Invictus
by Moonchild707
Summary: With her father dead and nothing more than a truck full of boxes, Bella Swan embarks on a journey to California. Fuelled by distant dreams brought to her through an old letter from her estranged brother, Bella finds that the Golden State is not all sunny beaches and blowing palm trees. A story about reuniting after tragedy, and about what it means to be family.
1. Chapter 1

_._

 _Out of the night that covers me,  
_ _Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
_ _I thank whatever gods may be  
_ _For my unconquerable soul._

 _In the fell clutch of circumstance  
_ _I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
_ _Under the bludgeonings of chance  
_ _My head is bloody, but unbowed._

 _Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
_ _Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
_ _And yet the menace of the years  
_ _Finds and shall find me unafraid._

 _It matters not how strait the gate,  
_ _How charged with punishments the scroll,  
_ _I am the master of my fate,  
_ _I am the captain of my soul._

 _-_ "Invictus", by William Ernest Henley

Chapter 1

Over the many long hours she had spent curled up in the hard, plastic chair, Bella had never heard the room so silent. She could hear her own heartbeat, the rhythmic rush of blood pounding through her veins, beating like drums in her ears. The fabric of her blue denim pants swam and wavered before her eyes as she swallowed hard, forcing the tears to abate. She refused to shift her gaze, to look up and see the still, pale shell laid out on the bed. She could see him in her mind's eye, writhing and gasping for breath, chest heaving as nurses flooded in…

She clenched her eyes shut, rubbing them hard to dispel the terrible image. She felt the salty moisture of tears come away on her palms and she hastily wiped them clean on her sweater, resting her head on her knees.

What in the hell had just happened? Sure, he had been sick, but she had never expected… never _imagined…_

"Isabella?" The voice from the doorway startled her, making her jump as she wheeled around to face the nurse.

"Yes?" Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "Yes?"

"Is there someone we can call for you? A friend or family member?"

Bella stared blankly at her, the question barely registering in her frazzled mind.

"What?"

"Is there someone we can call for you, dear? An aunt or uncle, perhaps? Sister? Brother?"

Bella felt her eyes well up with tears once more, and this time, she was powerless to stop their course down her cheeks. The nurse clucked sympathetically and rested a gentle hand on Bella's shoulder as she wiped angrily at her face, shaking her head.

"No," she replied, turning at last to face the still form on the bed. He looked strange, as if someone had tried to recreate his likeness in wax. Gone was the gentle, crooked smile he had rarely shown, even to his own children. The brown, unassuming eyes that so resembled her own were closed, sunken and tired on his wasted face. His mouth bothered her; her father had never worn that expression on his face before, and she didn't like to see it now. His once-strong jaw was slack, letting his mouth fall open…

She clenched her eyes again and turned away.

"No, there's no one to call," she said, looking up at the kind-faced nurse who had been at the bedside when everything had gone so terribly, horribly wrong. The nurse's eyebrows pinched together and she breathed a little sigh before she sat herself in the chair next to Bella, in what Bella assumed to be a show of support.

"There's just me."

* * *

It had been ten full minutes since Bella had pulled into the driveway of her father's house—the one place she had been avoiding ever since he had fallen ill. The whitewashed façade that looked out over the sleepy side street presented an image of unassuming suburbia, a place where a happy couple might live with a few kids and a dog. There was even, Bella noted with a snort, a little white picket fence marking the edge of the property- a legacy from Renee's interlude in Seattle, when she'd feared for her children's safety along the road. Bella recalled her father's mutinous grumbling whenever an unsuspecting neighbour commented on their picturesque little corner house with its adorable fence and beautiful window boxes.

Bella knew that deep down, under all his harsh remarks, her dad had missed Renee, and disliked any reminder that she had ever been a part of his life. As far as Charlie was concerned, Renee had never crossed his path, and he was more than happy to pretend she had never existed. Never mind that she had borne him two children…

Bella shook her head and killed the truck's engine, lest she earn herself a noise complaint for the clamorous idling. She sat still in the driver's seat, looking up at the darkened windows and wishing, beyond hope, that she would see a light come on, some sign of life inside.

But there was only her, and so with great trepidation, she gathered up the stack of paperwork from the seat next to her and exited the truck, fumbling clumsily in her pocket for the house key. As it always did, the bottom stair of the wooden porch creaked when she stepped on it, and without warning, she felt her eyes burn as she recalled the sound from her youth—it always meant that he was coming home.

The key slid in as easily as ever and with a loud click, the lock gave way and the front door swung open. Bella could smell the musty scent of a house unused as she stepped gingerly over the pile of envelopes sitting underneath the mail slot in the door. She flicked a dusty light switch, sending bright, harsh, fluorescent light throughout the small kitchen. There was, she noted, a thin layer of dust and grime covering almost everything in the house, as it had been some weeks since Bella had been inside.

One glance into the refrigerator told her she had nothing edible on hand, and she resigned herself to her gnawing hunger, settling at the head of the small dining table. The kitchen clock ticked steadily on as she sat, her knee bouncing and fingernails tapping on the worn wooden tabletop.

What was she supposed to do now?

The pile of papers from the hospital sat untouched on the opposite end of the table. There was a stack of mail—mostly bills—sitting on the dusty floor by the door, and speaking of dust, the house needed a thorough going over. She had no food and no money until her small paycheck from the diner came in on Friday, and there was now the whole issue of sorting through Charlie's things. And she still had to make that dreaded phone call.

A lump grew in her throat as she sat at the unused kitchen table, finally alone for the first time in weeks, and this time, she did not force her sadness away. Her eyes burned as she swallowed hard, pursing her lips together to hold in the sounds of her grief. What was she supposed to do? She knew what she _had_ to do, of course, which had nothing to do with crying at the dinner table, but she felt powerless to do any of it.

How could she get up and examine those bills on the floor, knowing that whatever meager insurance money she would receive from the agency would go directly to funeral and medical expenses? She could not bear to look at the total amount she would owe, now that the house and all of its bills would be signed over to her. She had learned firsthand over the past few months just how much it cost to run a house, pay for food, and keep up with the medical bills for her ailing father.

Her minimum wage, part-time salary didn't even scratch the surface.

Bella had thought it was only a security measure—a long-distant _what if_ scenario when Charlie had summoned a lawyer to his bedside to revisit his will. She had never really expected to inherit the house, the bills, or whatever savings Charlie had managed to amass over the years working as a beat cop in downtown Seattle. She had never expected that she would be the one to make these big decisions, at 22 years old, about where the money would go and what should be done with all of his worldly goods.

This is the age, she thought bitterly, that she should be out with friends on some college campus far away, living off ramen noodles and wild nights at the pub. She should be almost finished a degree—a dream she'd had since she was just a little girl—and well on her way to launching a career. But instead here she was, alone and broke, without any hope of digging her way out.

She pressed her cheek against the cold, dusty wood of the table and closed her eyes, breathing a deep sigh. She didn't even notice herself drifting into sleep.

When she woke, it was with the harsh light of a rare sunny morning and a painful crick in her neck. A fly buzzed angrily in the overhead light fixture and Bella opened her eyes gingerly, watching its black fuzzy shape winding round and round the beveled glass. Turning towards the window, she saw the dewy grass and the crisp, cold frost on her beat up truck, but even that beauty was not welcome to her. She clamped her eyes shut against it, willing everything to disappear.

The clock above the table read 7:30, and although it was far too early, Bella could not sleep another wink.

This time last year, she was most likely waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and maybe some toast, providing he had managed not to burn it…

Bella shook her head to dismiss these longing memories and reached across the table, taking hold of the thick manila envelope she had brought home with her yesterday. She dumped the contents on the table, displacing the dust and making her eyes water as she glanced over each one.

A business card from the hospital social worker. Information on cremation. Information on funeral arrangements. A form to sign, authorizing the mortuary to cremate the body. Forms to pass on to the funeral director. Forms for the insurance company. A copy of the medical records. Another hospital bill, for the medications and interventions used at the very end… the ones that hadn't worked.

Bella pushed the papers aside and rubbed her eyes, knowing that she would have to force herself to handle them. She toyed with the idea of opening the mountain of bills, knowing that her anxiety would shoot through the roof when she did, but also knowing that it really couldn't be avoided…

The cordless phone that was mounted on the kitchen wall jangled loudly, echoing through the house and Bella let out a yelp, wheeling around.

It rang twice.

Three times.

Just before the fourth ring could sound out, Bella leapt to her feet and stumbled across the room, snatching the heavy handset from the cradle and pressing the speaker to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Oh Bella, I'm so sorry," came the voice from the other end, and Bella breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

At least it wasn't _him._

"Hey Ange," she said wearily, clearing her throat.

"My dad just called to tell me about Charlie," she said quietly, no doubt trying not to wake Ben, her fiancé. "I can't believe it, honey. Are you okay?"

Angela Weber, Bella's friend from high school, was one of the few people she kept up with since most of her graduating class had moved out of state. Angela, for example, had gone to Northwestern in Chicago four years ago where she'd met Ben, a computer science major with a big soft spot for old movies.

Needless to say, Bella was not surprised one bit when Angela had called three months ago, ecstatic to announce that she and Ben were getting married.

"I'm…" began Bella, and for a brief moment she toyed with the notion of telling Angela the truth. She wondered whether or not it would help to have another person know about her fears and anxieties, about how screwed she really was.

"I'm fine," said Bella, being sure to make her voice sound calm and collected. She could not have Angela worrying about her, with her final year of college looming before her and a new internship on the horizon later this term. Angela had her own life to worry about, and Bella would not add to her stress.

"I hope you don't mind that dad told me," she said quickly, and Bella shook her head. "You know he's usually very quiet about these sorts of things, but this time it was _you…"_

"It's alright, Ange," said Bella gently. "Thanks for calling." Angela's father was a bit of an odd duck in the community—he had started out as an Anglican priest with a parish in Bella's neighbourhood, but in a move that shocked everyone, he had gone back to school to become a mortician. Angela and Bella had been nine at the time, and had mutually agreed that Mr. Weber's new choice of career was both morbid and absolutely fascinating.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked gently, and Bella heard her voice growing louder as she left Ben's side. "You know I'll do whatever I can to help…"

"I'm alright Ange, thanks though," said Bella, and to her annoyance, she felt the burning tears of grief stinging her eyes again. "You know me, I'll be alright."

"Have you…" began Angela gingerly, and Bella felt a well of anxiety rise up within her. She knew what Angela would ask, knew what she had to do…

"No," said Bella quickly. "I don't even know how. It's not like he left us a phone number."

"Yeah," said Angela, and Bella felt the awkwardness through the phone now. "Well, you could call the agency, maybe…"

"Yeah maybe," said Bella noncommittally, wishing for this line of conversation to end. She hated talking about it, hated _acknowledging_ it, hated the feelings of guilt and betrayal that welled up in her heart whenever _he_ was mentioned.

"He deserves to know, Bell," said Angela gently. "No matter what their relationship was like, he should know. He might even be able to help with some of the costs…"

"I don't want his money," snapped Bella, losing her temper as she stalked through the dark living room, memory guiding her towards the curtained window.

"I know, Bella," soothed Angela gently, and Bella felt a pang of guilt for directing her anger towards her only real friend. "But please tell me you're going to try, at least."

"I am going to," said Bella, and based on Angela's silence, she knew her friend was deep in thought.

"I wish I could come down," she said finally, and Bella released a shaky breath, sinking down onto the sofa.

"You've got school," said Bella gently. "I'm alright Ange, I promise. I'm going to go through some paperwork today to give to your dad, and I'm sure your mom will make me stay for dinner." Angela laughed her assent, knowing very well that there was no way Mrs. Weber would let Bella return home on an empty stomach.

"You'll let me know how it goes?" asked Angela, sounding hesitant this time around.

"Yeah, I'll shoot you an email, okay?"

"Alright Bell," she said, heaving a great sigh. "I love you."

"Love you too," said Bella, biting the inside of her cheek. How she wished Angela could be here…

"Call me if you need anything. I mean it."

"Thanks Ange."

"Love you."

"Bye," said Bella gently.

"Bye." The phone clicked, and Bella pulled it away from her ear, staring down at the lit screen that was timing the length of the call. Gingerly, she pressed down on the red "end" button. The lit screen vanished, and the house was silent once more.

She knew what she had to do.

Taking the phone with her, Bella jumped up from the sofa and moved determinedly towards the staircase leading to the bedrooms. Three closed doors met her on the landing, and clutching the phone almost painfully tight, she sidestepped the middle door, which Charlie would only open for cleaning, and moved instead to the far right, feeling like an intruder as she turned the handle. The room was exactly how she remembered it—small, but tidy. His belt hung on the hook by the door and his work boots were exactly where they always were. Bella saw his gun holster, missing its firearm, draped over the post at the end of the bed, and there was still an indentation on the pillow from his last afternoon nap.

Bella moved quickly to the bedside drawer before she completely lost her nerve and pulled it open, ignoring the scent of the cologne she knew he kept in there. She wasn't entirely sure where he kept his little black address book, but if she wanted that phone number, it was her only hope. Maybe he had left a number with dad, and dad had just never told her. Hopefully he had.

Under some old photographs from fishing trips in Bella's teen years, Bella saw the soft, worn leather of the familiar pocket book. Ever since she could remember, Charlie had always carried it with him in his back pocket, taking it everywhere from work to weekend fishing trips. Bella distinctly remembered the time they had been out on a boat and the book had tumbled into the lake. Her father, determined not to lose it, dove in after it, fishing it out of the murky water.

Once they had returned home, he had spent the rest of the evening with Bella's hair dryer, painstakingly warming each page and rewriting all the faded information.

Bella examined the pages in her hand, and couldn't help but smile when she saw the distinct ripples that not even the hair blower could cure. Bella had never been sure what the big deal was about Charlie's little black book, but her father had been most partial to it, and so Bella was careful to treat it well.

She sat down carefully on Charlie's lightly rumpled comforter and put the phone down beside her, taking a moment to breathe deeply and plan out what she was going to say.

How did you word something like this? What was she supposed to say to him if she dialed the phone number and he answered?

 _Dad's gone…_

 _Something's happened to Dad…_

 _Dad passed away yesterday…_

 _Dad's dead._

She pressed her hands to her forehead to stave off the burgeoning headache, and forced her own grief aside as she tried to _think._

She had no idea what to say.

Pushing her anxiety aside for the time being, Bella opened the little black book and flipped through the various names and addresses Charlie had written down. She glanced through with a nostalgic smile on her face as she took in old names and numbers that she had long forgotten. There was her old ballet teacher, with whom Bella had only lasted one year before she broke down and cried her way out of a second. There was the elementary school she had attended until the end of sixth grade, when she had moved to the vastly superior, yet incredibly intimidating middle school. There were pages of old acquaintances, people who had slipped in and out of Charlie's life as quickly and quietly as a rainbow after a storm. There were old, longtime friends that Bella was sure she would be seeing over the next few days, as well as people who had only ever met him once or twice. Here was a number for a woman he had helped some thirty years back, when he was just a rookie, and one for a man with whom he'd once quarrelled… the list was endless.

Bella couldn't find the name she was searching for anywhere among the vast list. She shifted to the "S" section, determined to find the familiar last name, but the only Swans in the book were her Nana and Pop, who had been gone almost fifteen years. Bella flipped desperately from side to side, scanning lists, wondering if maybe Charlie had written the name in another section. Maybe under "E", for his first name...

Finding nothing, her last hope resided in a small pouch at the back of the book, tied shut with a length of twine. Bella recognized one of Charlie's fishing knots on the thin rope—one she could never master—and smiled to herself as she touched it gently, wishing she wouldn't have to undo his handiwork. Charlie would not like her prying through his private things.

Bella took the ends of the string in her hands and gently, almost mechanically, untied the well-placed knot. Some part of her deep inside knew that it was necessary, that it was not a willful destruction of her father's work, but in that moment Bella felt pieces of herself come undone with each piece of twine she freed.

The small pouch fell open without any fanfare once the string was untied, and before she reached inside, she placed the string gently in her pocket. Only once it was settled did Bella reach one shaking hand inside the pouch, pulling out a single sheet of folded paper. She did not want to unfold it, fearing what she might find inside, but gently, almost gingerly, she parted the thick paper and glanced down at the page in her hands.

There he was, right on top, his name glaring up at her as a single tear splashed on the page. Bella blinked hard and blotted the spot before it could leave a mark, her niggling fear of her father's disappointment clawing its way up her back. She looked down again and took in the information written there, surprised by how sparse it was.

 _Emmett Swan_

 _Benson Talent Agency_

 _818-555-7682_

No address. No personal phone number. Not even an email address.

Bella's eyes swam once again as she snatched up the phone from beside her and began inputting the numbers that would put her through. It rang only once before someone picked up, and Bella scrambled to get her thoughts in order.

"Benson Talent Agency, Victoria speaking," came a crisp, cool female voice through the speaker. Bella took a deep breath and felt herself clam up, her throat constricting as tears clouded her vision again.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Yes," she croaked out, "Yes, I'm here."

"How may I direct your call?"

"I'm looking for Emmett Swan," said Bella, clearing her throat as she took a deep, steadying breath. She had not spoken her brother's name in nearly three years.

"I'm sorry?" asked the woman, Victoria, rather skeptically.

"Emmett Swan," said Bella again, repeating the name. "This is the only number I have for him."

"This is a talent agency, ma'am, not a personal landline for our clients. If you'd like, I can connect you to his agent, though he's not in right now."

"Can you get him a message?" asked Bella, her voice cracking again as she fought to control her voice. "It's an emergency."

"Your name?" asked Victoria, and Bella heard the clacking of a keyboard in the background.

"Isabella," she said feebly, knowing very well that she was not in any database they had on hand.

"Isabella…" said Victoria, sounding more and more skeptical by the second. "No, I don't have anyone by that name on my list. You'll have to contact Mr. Benson directly."

"It's important," Bella insisted.

"Mhm, I'm sure it is," said Victoria, and Bella could not mistake the note of derision in her voice. "Listen, I can connect you with Mr. Benson. That's the best I can do. If you want to talk to Mr. Swan directly, this office can't help you—"

Bella hung up the phone and tossed it aside, feeling another piece of herself break away from the whole.

She really was well and truly alone.

 **A/N:** **Let me know what you think of this one!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here is an early second chapter, since I'm very excited to get this story out there. I expect to update again by next Friday (hopefully Friday or Saturday will be my update days).**

 **Enjoy!**

Chapter 2

Bella pulled herself heavily off of her father's bed, her sniffles and hiccups dying away with the last of her tears. The cloudless sky that had been so blue and clear in the early morning was becoming grey; the afternoon light filtering in through the blinds was growing wan as the usual overcast sky returned. A glance at the red alarm clock told Bella that the time was now 1:05, and that she had been upstairs for hours.

Clutching the black leather book, Bella forced herself to move out of the room, closing the door behind her. Her own bedroom, tantalizing and comforting, lay ahead of her at the opposite end of the landing, but she knew that if she let herself climb into bed she would not have the strength to crawl back out. As much as she wished she could take the day to wallow and hide, she knew that there would be worried phone calls and frantic knocks on the door. Mr. and Mrs. Weber were already concerned about her, as they had called just after she had hung up on the woman from the talent agency. Bella had fielded the call, but the message revealed a worried and motherly Mrs. Weber, insisting that Bella call her back so they could talk.

Mrs. Weber had always been kind to Bella, especially after Renee had walked out.

So it was with Mrs. Weber in mind that Bella forced herself to leave the landing entirely, moving slowly downstairs to collect her paperwork for the funeral home. She found it on the kitchen table, exactly where she had left it, and stuffed it hastily into her old high school backpack which she found in its place by the front door. The house was eerily silent around her—there were no sounds of baseball games in the living room, no noises from the little bathroom, and no snoring from the smallest bedroom.

Bella slammed the door behind her as she rushed out to her truck, knowing that her commute to the Weber's home would take some time. After Angela had moved to Chicago for school, Mr. and Mrs. Weber had relocated to a small condo at the opposite end of town. Mr. Weber had been overjoyed that this new house included no grass for him to cut. Angela's father had always hated yard work, and Bella recalled many summers of ice cream and treats for Angela and herself when they had agreed to take on the outside chores.

Determined not to get lost in memories, Bella started up her truck and threw it into gear, putting all of her attention on the road.

* * *

"Saturday, night shift?" asked Mike, wiping his greasy hands on his apron. Bella glanced down at the printed calendar she had in front of her, and penned in the 11-7 shift with only mild hesitation.

"I'll take it," she said, and Mike frowned at her.

"That's almost 30 hours this week, Bella," he said, doing quick mental math to calculate her time.

"I know," she said.

"Don't you work at the bookstore now too?" asked Mike, glancing at her with his sharp, blue eyes.

"Yeah," said Bella warily, ready to defend herself, but Mike cut her off.

"You don't want to take on too much," he warned, placing a hot hand on Bella's knee. There was a long moment of silence. Bella froze in her chair, face flushing bright red as she shifted awkwardly, trying to pull her leg away. Bella saw Mike's expression soften as his thumb gently stroked upwards, in what he undoubtedly assumed was a display of support. Bella felt anger rear up inside of her as she jerked her leg away, the metal legs of her chair scraping loudly on the dirty linoleum of Mike's office floor. Bella had never liked the strange, out-of-character affection Mike always had for her— something he did not show for any of his other employees. He was a middle-aged, portly father of two, and Bella did not think it was entirely appropriate for him to be touching and hugging her.

"I know what I can handle," she said coolly, sitting back in her chair out of Mike's reach. Mike stared at her for a long moment, clenching his jaw, and quickly scrawled the 11-7 shift under her empty square for Saturday night.

"Well, that's all I can offer you," he said, and Bella noted a new hardness in his voice.

"What about that Sunday shift?" asked Bella, knowing very well they would be short-staffed during the dinner rush. "I can pick that up."

"You're not a full-timer," snapped Mike suddenly, raising his eyebrows at her. Bella started in surprise. "You're lucky I've let you work this much. I've got other girls who have worked here a lot longer than you who are supposed to get first crack. You've done enough this week."

Bella said nothing, staring disbelievingly at the man she was growing to despise. He stared obstinately back at her, eyebrow twitching when she would not look away.

"Thanks," she said finally, and Mike gave her a false, simpering smile.

"Have a good weekend," he said, turning to face the computer screen, and Bella knew that she had been dismissed.

That night, as she sat at the wooden table in the pretty, quiet corner house, she examined the mountain of bills that had piled up over the last four weeks. Electric bills, mortgage payments, gas bills, medical bills…

The math would not work out.

* * *

The phone would not stop ringing and Bella clapped her hands over her ears, willing it to be silent. She toyed with the idea of turning it off, of tearing the damn thing right off the wall so it could not badger her, but the thought of missing a phone call from _him,_ of not being accessible when he finally figured out what had happened, made her hedge…

The answering machine picked up.

"Hello again. This is Colleen from the Northwestern Credit Bureau," said the woman that Bella had grown to hate. "We have left several messages for you, Miss Swan, and we regret to inform you that if no effort is made to clear up your accounts, we will be forced to take legal action…."

Bella clenched her eyes shut and wished the woman would stop.

Mike had been giving her the lowest number of hours of any waitress he employed, even though she had more seniority than any of the little high school girls working evenings and weekends. The bookstore was never intended to be her main source of income, and though kindly old Bernice was eager to help where she could, Bella knew the little store could not afford to give her an abundance of work. Even her resumes and applications, which she had handed out three weeks ago, had yielded no calls.

That letter from yesterday had frightened her too. She had been forced to call Mike and tell him that she was sick, that she could not make it into her shift, and that had only made him angrier with her. She had opened that letter and read it through three times before she bolted to the bathroom, sicker than she had been in weeks. Her chest had tightened and her head had pounded, and the letter had been abandoned on the kitchen floor.

Bella had known nothing about the loan Charlie had taken out to pay for some of his medical expenses, and had no idea that the bank had been expecting payment. When she saw the address on the form, listed as the asset Charlie had put up in the event of arrears, she knew what would happen, and could not, for the life of her, figure out what she would do.

She had no way to pay, and the bank would take the house if she couldn't figure it out.

Bella had frantically called Charlie's lawyer, the one who had set up the will in the hospital. He had nothing to offer her, stating only that perhaps downsizing was in order if that was something she would consider.

Bella had hung up on him, too, on the verge of hyperventilation once more. In desperation, she dialled the dreaded Los Angeles number again, praying this time to get through to someone other than the snooty desk girl. Four times she had called, and four times she had heard the same response. This time was no different. All she got was a curt rebuttal, and a not-so-kind request for her to stop calling.

Bella was never the lucky one.

* * *

Bella stared up at Mike, disbelieving.

"It's been three months, Bella, and I'm sorry to say that this behaviour violates our employee code of ethics." Mike's oily hand was resting on her knee again.

"I haven't done anything wrong," said Bella firmly, shaking her head as she tried to keep herself together. "You know I haven't."

"On the contrary," said Mike, removing his hand and picking up a piece of paper. Bella saw the familiar girlish handwriting on the torn piece of notebook paper, and her face flushed.

"Whatever Bree has been telling you is a lie," she said angrily, rubbing her face with her hands. "You know how she's been after my shifts."

"Be that as it may," said Mike slickly, "stealing food is no minor offence."

"Stealing food!" cried Bella, outraged, lifting her head to face him. "I haven't stolen _anything."_

"According to this testimony," Mike said, a nasty glint in his eye as he read over Bree's letter, "you were seen in the kitchen, after hours, eating."

"Everyone does it," said Bella weakly. "All the girls do." What she said was true—all of the girls who worked the closing shift at Mike's Diner often congregated in the kitchen before they left to enjoy the fries and perishables leftover from the day's business. Bella was hardly the only one who indulged, and it was well-known that Mike usually turned a blind eye.

"Be that as it may," said Mike again, "this is not the first time you've been warned." Bella's brow furrowed in confusion as she wracked her brain to think of when else she had been thusly disciplined. She could not focus.

"Mike please," said Bella desperately, letting her tears fall. "I can't afford to lose this job. The bookstore doesn't need me, and—"

"You should have thought of that before you broke the rules," he interrupted, with a sympathetic cluck that made Bella's blood boil.

"You're seriously firing me?" she asked, and she saw two of the kitchen girls halt their work outside the door to eavesdrop. "I've worked for you, faithfully, for six years."

"That does not excuse theft," said Mike again, leaning his head back against the wall. "Believe, me, Bella, this isn't easy for me to say."

"Yeah right," said Bella, teeth clenched against the falling tears.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to return your apron and leave," said Mike. Bella's face contorted.

"Take it," she snapped, tearing it off her waist and tossing it in his lap. Mike stared at her, brows raised, the merest hint of an amused smirk playing around his lips.

"No need to get like that," he said. "I'm just following company directions."

Bella said nothing back as she wheeled out of the office, shoving past the snickering kitchen girls and storming through the busy dining room. The bell hanging on the door tinkled as she threw it open, and it stayed open long enough for her to hear old Mr. Reilly's exclamation. He was one of her regulars, and knew her well.

"Now that young girl didn't just get let go, did she? My goodness, she's been here for _years_ —"

Bella ran down the darkening sidewalk and didn't wait to hear the response.

As she moved through the thick throngs of people making their way home from their various daily activities, Bella felt little pieces of her patience and sanity slipping away. Step by step, she felt bits and pieces of her self-control fall away, and before she had made it three blocks, her tears brimmed over again and she began to cry. Once or twice, a concerned passerby stopped to question her, but Bella heard none of it, moving as fast as she could towards the parking lot where she'd left her old, rusted truck. By the time she came to the darkened lot with its two buzzing street lamps she was sprinting, tears blurring her vision and nearly causing her to run straight into her parked truck. She had to pry the door open with some force, as the day's ice and snow had frozen it shut.

She fumbled with the keys and started it up with shaking hands. Bella tore out of the lot without so much as a passing glance at the little diner that had been her main source of income since her junior year of high school. Her truck, limited to its maximum speed of 55 miles per hour, did not allow her much in the way of haste, but she pushed it to its limit as she made her way down to the familiar suburb that had been her home since the day she was born. Pulling into the dark driveway she noticed that not one light in the house was lit, though she knew she had left her porch light on earlier in the day.

Losing herself entirely at the thought the expense of a new light bulb, she stumbled through the front door and sank back against it. She felt the envelopes under her that had been slid through the mail flap during her workday, but she merely brushed them aside, knowing there would be nothing there but past-due notices and more bills.

The house was pitch black in the evening twilight, and though she had no desire to move from her spot on the floor, Bella felt that it would be best to at least turn on a light. She could feel the winter chill seeping up through the floor, making her shiver. Once on her feet she felt carefully along the wall, moving past the paper calendar she'd hung there, until she found the old light switch.

She heard the familiar _click_ , but there was no accompanying buzz of fluorescent bulbs. Frowning, she reached back and flicked it off and back on again, confusion and fear welling up inside as the light remained steadfastly dark.

Moving to the living room, she tried her father's favourite lamp, and to her despair, there was no responding rush of light. The clocks on the DVD player and the stove were also out, and there was no friendly green glow from the microwave's display. Even the little nightlight in the small bathroom was dark and unresponsive.

Knowing what had happened, Bella tossed herself desolately onto the sofa in the black living room. Though she could not see, she felt up behind her for the old quilt her father had placed there, pulling it down over her shaking body. As it always did when Bella came home, she felt the fear and panic rise up inside her and a familiar crushing sensation overtook her. Not for the first time, she felt herself relinquished completely to the worry and fear that now ruled her life, and she did her very best not to think about the unopened letters sitting on the welcome mat.

* * *

Bella stared, blank-faced at the burly man and slender woman standing on her front porch. The papers in her hand meant nothing to her, and though the woman was speaking pointedly, Bella could not hear.

"Did you hear what I said?" demanded the woman angrily, seeing Bella's disinterest. Bella snapped back to attention.

"No."

"I said," repeated the irritated woman, "that by next Tuesday, this house will be the property of the bank and is going up for auction. We have already been in contact with your lawyer and he will be stopping by to discuss the logistics with you. I'm very sorry, Ms. Swan."

Bella stared at her, trying with all her might to gather her thoughts.

"Are you listening?" asked the woman again, her voice growing more shrill as her irritation increased. "Ma'am?"

"Yes, I heard you," said Bella in a breathy whisper, glancing only momentarily into the angry black eyes. "I understand."

"You have until Tuesday to have yourself out," repeated the strange woman. "Am I clear? Anything left in the residence after Tuesday will be turned over to the bank along with the property."

Bella stared.

"Tuesday," repeated the woman slowly, pointing her finger in Bella's face. "You hear me?"

"Tuesday," repeated Bella. It was Friday.

"That's right," said the woman, seeming pleased for the first time since her arrival. She and Bella stared awkwardly at one another, the big man neither looking up nor speaking, even when the woman dismissed herself. Bella supposed he was her muscle.

"We'll go for now, then," she said carefully, stepping backwards down the stairs. "Make your arrangements, Ms. Swan."

Bella said nothing, swallowing hard as the pair got back into their fancy pickup truck and backed slowly out of the driveway. Old Mr. Ferguson, the neighbour across the street, stood dumbstruck with his snow shovel at his side as the pair drove away.

"Oh Bella," he said, moving as quickly as he could across the uneven, snow-packed ground. Bella raised her hand to stop him coming up the icy stairs.

"I'll be fine, Mr. Ferguson," she said automatically, and the old man frowned and came up anyways.

"Now, they've got me all riled up," he said agitatedly, patting her awkwardly on the arm. "Where is that brother of yours? He should be here helping."

"I'm fine," repeated Bella, refusing to look up and see the familiar, lined face. Mr. Ferguson had been her neighbour for as long as she could remember, and had often been one to sneak Bella and Emmett sugary treats when Charlie wasn't looking.

"Now, dear, do you need a place to stay?" he asked gently. "I ain't got much, but I'd be glad to put you up until you get back on your feet."

"No, thank you, Mr. Ferguson," said Bella again, dreading the idea of living across the street from the only home she had ever known, knowing that she could never go back. "I'll figure something out."

"Now, dear, don't be proud…" said Mr. Ferguson gently, and Bella felt him wrap her in a shaky hug. For the first time since her father's funeral, Bella let the arms encircle her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've got someplace to go," she lied, her guilt surging as she held on to the gentle old man. "I'll be alright, Mr. Ferguson."

"Well, just mind that you are now," he said quietly. "I'd hate to think of you out there on your own with nowhere to go."

"I'll be okay." Maybe if she said it enough, it would come true.

"You need some help packing?" asked the kindly neighbour. "I've got nothing better to do, and I'm a right good packer if I make my mind up to do it."

"I couldn't bother you," said Bella honestly, knowing very well that she'd be a tearful mess during the whole ordeal. "I'll be fine, Mr. F. Don't worry about me."

"I'll always worry about you," he laughed, and Bella was dismayed to see a glimmer of tears in the blurry eyes. "Ever since your mama…" Bella bristled

"Yeah," she said, pulling away and looking at her wet, sock feet. Mr. Ferguson glanced down too and clucked, ushering her back inside the house.

"You'll catch your death, that's what," he said, waving a hand to shoo her inside. "Mind you take care of yourself now. Your daddy would want that."

Bella's heart clenched at the thought of Charlie but she nodded in acquiescence, knowing that he was right. Charlie might not have been the most expressive individual, but he had always been concerned with her welfare. He had loved her, in his own way…

"Thanks, Mr. Ferguson," said Bella quietly, slowly edging her way back into the house. "Thanks for all your help."

"Anytime, dear," he said gently, and Bella, careful to give him a watery smile, closed the door and used the window to watch him amble slowly back across the street.

The familiar silence of the house, once so oppressive and daunting, was now a source of great nostalgia for Bella. Though she hated the absence of another life in the house, she knew she would miss the house itself even more. Though she had hated this place since Charlie had passed away almost half a year ago, she knew she would hate a strange home even more. She did not want to move to a place where she had no memories, no family, and no one who loved her. It was true, she knew, that she was alone in this house, but this was the only place she knew where her family had been whole. It was here that she had grown up, here that she had started school, been teased by her brother, watched her mother baking in the kitchen. It was here that she could remember the squeaky stair that always meant her daddy was home, or perhaps Emmett from one of his high school football games. It was in this house that she had caught her brother red handed kissing Sally Jenkins on the front porch and had listened to him bribe her with all he owned to stop her telling dad.

This was the house where her childhood memories were stored, the stage upon which her youth had played out.

Knowing there was nothing else she could do, Bella forced herself down to the freezing cold basement to find the stash of old boxes Charlie kept down there, knowing she would have no choice but to pack up her things.

Over the next two days, Bella grabbed what she could. She went into the living room and took all the framed photographs off of the walls—her fishing trips, Charlie's police portrait, the graduation photos. She took the hidden album, stashed in an otherwise unused living room drawer, that contained the photos of Bella's childhood from before Renee's departure. She took her father's favourite cookbook, the childish artwork he had insisted on keeping on the refrigerator, and the police badge displayed prominently on the mantle. In her own room, Bella grabbed her worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_ , an old favourite, and the t-shirt her brother had sent her from his first year of university, before he had lost touch with her. Charlie hadn't even known Bella had kept it, and Bella was glad, for she knew he would have asked her to get rid of it.

By the time Monday night rolled around, Bella had packed up all the boxes she could find, and had them loaded in her truck. She sat at the bare table for what she knew would be the last time and looked sadly around, listening to the familiar _ticking_ of the kitchen clock.

 _Goodbye, House._

She did not know what she would do. She didn't know where she would go. She knew that Mr. Ferguson would have taken her in, but she could not expect an elderly pensioner to support her, a 22 year old woman. Mr. and Mrs. Weber would be glad to help as well, she knew, but they had already sent their only child off to school, and Angela was forming her own life. They did not need the added burden of a third mouth to feed.

Bella sat at that quiet table, drinking in her last moments in her kitchen until the first watery beams of sunlight began to filter through the kitchen window.

With a shaking sigh, she stood, moving carefully towards the stairs, ignoring the barren living room. She had been able to sell most of the big pieces of furniture, earning her a few bucks to get away from this place. The furniture money, she knew, would not last very long.

On the landing at the top of the stairs, Bella hesitated, staring most intently at the middle door. She had not been brave enough to open it, for fear of what she might find, but now that the opportunity would soon be past her, she carefully turned the knob. Bella hadn't entered this bedroom since her brother's departure, both at her father's request and at her own discretion. She remembered the happy nights she'd spent in here with Emmett, sometimes in the company of his school friends, listening to him talk or watching him play video games. Bella and Emmett had been thick as thieves when Bella was small, and despite the 8-year age gap between them, Bella had been much cared for by her older brother. Bella remembered the twin bed, remembered Emmett's grumbling that it was too small, and couldn't help but smile to herself.

On the bookshelf by the window, Bella saw a small brown teddy bear, and a stack of old high school yearbooks. Ignoring the rest she moved towards the shelf and plucked them down, brushing off a thick layer of dust.

Bella had no idea what kinds of things her brother would want from his youth and she had neither the time nor the means to figure it out. Feeling her emotions welling up again at the thought of her absent sibling, Bella decided then and there to take the bear and the books, and leave the rest to chance. Perhaps the new family would find some old memento and make some money off of it. Her brother was famous enough, after all…

Bella shoved the yearbook and the small bear into her orange backpack and double checked her wallet for the money she had amassed over the weekend. Knowing that she could not be here when that awful woman and her hulking friend came back to take possession of the house, Bella quickly produced a letter from her backpack and on tip-toe, reached up and slid it into the cabinet above the stove. That cupboard was always the one place in the house Charlie never used, so it had become something of a secret hiding space for Bella and Emmett in their youth. If he ever came back to this house, Bella knew that the cupboard would be the first place he would check. She could only hope that the new owner of the house didn't throw the letter away before he got the chance.

Turning her back on the kitchen for the last time, Bella grabbed her backpack and exited the house, not letting herself pause in the doorway. She knew that if she stopped, it would be all the harder for her to finally leave when the time came for it. She would not make this any worse than it had to be.

"Goodbye," she whispered, glancing once at Mr. Ferguson's house, still dark in the early morning. Bella knew he would come looking for her when he woke, and she hoped he wouldn't be too angry at her for slipping away in the night.

The truck rumbled to life and Bella, with one last, wistful glance at the whitewashed exterior, pulled out of the driveway and left her little corner house behind.

 **A/N: Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bella knew that if she had been in Seattle tonight, she could have seen the stars. The radio, blaring loudly to keep her awake, was still tuned in on the radio station from home. That sound system had been the one luxury her ancient, decrepit truck had awarded her—it had been a gift from Charlie for her high school graduation. The newscaster spoke of surprisingly clear skies and unseasonably warm weather, and for a brief moment, Bella let herself wonder whether or not tonight would have been a good night to get some use out of the back porch, which she hadn't used all winter.

Bella loved the stars, and felt a keen sense of regret that she could not see them here as well, though she knew the sky was clear. She had been driving for hours—ever since she had left the little corner house at five thirty in the morning, and had only pulled into two rest stops to use the washroom and gas up. Almost seventeen hours later she found herself passing the Los Angeles City Limits sign, and she could see the vast, sprawling city laid out in sparkling lights before her. The bright light from the surrounding metropolis drowned the gentle twinkling of stars, and Bella found herself wondering if she'd ever see them again while she was here.

Driving, Bella had discovered, was an excellent way to clear her head and get some peace and quiet. Driving in Seattle, which she was quite used to doing, was nothing to driving on the interstate, and she found that the latter demanded far more attention and coordination. She did not have time to let herself grieve for the life she had left behind, or fear for whatever life she might be moving towards, with her beaten-down truck full of boxes. She did not let herself fret over her lack of funds, or her lack of shelter, or even if she would find someplace to eat tonight. For the moment, all that mattered was her attention to the road, and the blaring voice on the radio.

"Coming up next, our top 10 hits of this year!" cried the announcer, and Bella's ears were blasted with the sound of the boy band pop song that had played at least once an hour since her departure from Washington.

The clock on her dash told her it was almost 9 at night, and as she entered the outskirts of the city, she wondered where she would spend her night. She had already decided, upon reviewing her funds, that she would park her truck in some quiet lot for the night and sleep on the seats, but she had no idea where was, and more importantly, where was _not,_ a safe place to bunk.

For all she knew, she might wake up to a gun in her face or all her things stolen.

Driving through the town, Bella saw clear signs of degradation and shabbiness. She passed building after building with worn-down exteriors and spray painted graffiti on almost every bare brick. Stores had big metal bars on their windows and one pub she passed had such mean-looking clientele that she didn't even think of stopping and asking for directions. She had found a map at one of the rest stops and had been trying to examine it, but not wanting to stop again unless she absolutely had to, Bella had chosen instead to follow the road signs.

Now that the drive was winding down, Bella felt the familiar heaviness of grief and anxiety settling back in on her. She had been so distracted by her long trip that she had not thought out the logistics, as they had seemed so far off. Now that she was faced with these decisions, however, she wondered whether or not she had been foolish and hasty—whether she should have thought it through before she tore off into the great unknown of sunny California. California had seemed so wonderful compared to Seattle, so warm and so welcoming, that Bella hadn't even given it a second thought. Part of her knew that _he_ was here, that there was a chance she would run into him, but not even that anxious possibility would keep her away.

Bella remembered the first and only letter Emmett had sent her when he'd first moved to the Golden State. Though she did not like to think of her brother, especially now, she could not help but think of the great sprawling beaches, bustling city center, gleaming white Hollywood sign, and beautiful palm trees that dominated his setting. For years, even under Charlie's strict watch, Bella had fantasized about the great, far-off land that seemed so different from her little poky corner house. When her brother had still loved her, Bella had dreamed of rushing off to join him, of moving to the world of warmth, sand, and sun to be with him, and to be happy.

Although Emmett had changed, Bella's image of California paradise had not, and so, when this unfortunate opportunity arose, she knew there was only one place for her to go. She could not stay where she had been, so she would go to the one place she'd always wanted to be.

But for now, Bella saw none of the splendour and loveliness of Emmett's letter- only lonely alleys and rusted trash cans. She felt the tiredness of the day seeping deeper into her bones—she had not slept the night before, and had darted out so hastily this morning that there was no time for even a thought of sleep. Any lag she had felt had been promptly exorcised with the loudest music station she could find, and she had forced herself to complete the trip.

Bella drove around that dingy neighbourhood for what felt like hours before she came across a quiet dead-end street with an IHOP parking lot at the end. The restaurant was closed and all the lights inside were dim, but at the back of the store, Bella found a quiet little nook and pulled her truck to a stop. For a moment, she sat in the silence of the cab, hearing only the distant rumbling of traffic, and the odd hooting or laughing from pedestrians on the streets nearby. The back of the store was dark and Bella, in her exhaustion, barely had time to reach down and snatch up the pillow she'd brought with her and the quilt from the back of the sofa. On a regular day, the cab would have been the most uncomfortable sleeping place Bella had ever encountered, but on this night, after going sleepless for so long, it felt like the most luxurious bed she'd ever had.

Sleep came easily to her that night.

* * *

The next morning, Bella was unceremoniously awoken by an insistent pounding on the driver's side window. Sitting up in a confused rush, Bella let the quilt slide to the floor as she brushed her tangled hair out of her eyes and squinted up at her disturber—an irritated-looking man wearing an IHOP uniform.

"You can't sleep here," he said angrily, pointing his finger at her through the glass. "No squatting!"

"I'm not squatting," protested Bella, shaking her head to wake herself up. The man snorted and rolled his eyes, pointing to the exit.

"Be on your way!" he shouted, and Bella reached for her keys. The rumble of the truck startled the man and he jumped back, but upon his quick recovery he shooed her towards the main road.

The clock on the dash flashed 4:55, and Bella sighed in the dim morning light. She watched in her mirror as the angry, irritated man slammed the back door open again and returned with some trash bags, which he promptly threw in the dumpster the truck had been nestled against.

So much for that.

As she drove out onto the main road, Bella felt her stomach clench with the familiar sensation of gnawing hunger. She heard the rumbling it gave off and grimaced, knowing that more likely than not, she'd have to shell out some of her carefully rationed cash on food. She knew that if she could find a grocery store she would be able to find a cheap loaf of bread or some kind of fruit, but urgency demanded that she pull in to the McDonalds she saw down the road.

Her bathroom needs tended and a breakfast sandwich in her hand, Bella returned to her truck and ate quietly in the weak sunlight, taking in the sight of a clear, blue dawn. In Seattle, everything natural had been so green. Here, Bella saw the familiar hints of foliage and vegetation, but mixed in were some of the most vibrant and beautiful colours she had ever seen. The flower box, simple as it was in the McDonalds parking lot, bloomed with pinks, reds, and violets that she never would have seen during a Seattle winter.

Bella ate her sandwich and allowed herself those few minutes to admire the beauty of her new surroundings, only tearing her attention away once all she had was the wrapper.

She considered for a long moment, head resting on the steering wheel, where she should go now that she had some sleep and some food. She could not keep living out of parking lots, and she supposed she should try to get some job applications out, but in the meantime, she had no place to go and no one to help her. She wasn't even sure exactly where she was—she knew she was somewhere in Los Angeles, but in which area or on which street she could not tell. Cars whizzed to and fro before her and although Bella knew she could ask almost any of them for help or direction, she had no way of knowing what kind of person might be driving those cars.

Taking out her map proved to be an equally fruitless endeavour, since she was dreadfully lost and the map was pages long. She knew where she had come into town, but her aimless, tired, winding drive in the dark had gotten her turned around. She could not locate her street on any quadrant of the map she examined, and although she could find some useful places on the map, she had no idea how to get there.

When she returned to the McDonalds counter to ask the young, pimpled youth who had served her, he pointed vaguely south and told her to drive that way if she wanted to find a better area of town.

Back in her truck, Bella drove carefully, taking note of the turns and curves she made lest she feel the need to turn back around. She spent more of her money on gas for the truck when she found another station, and drove in the direction the boy had pointed her for another hour and a half before she found anything worth her while.

Coming across what seemed to be a more residential area, Bella saw some schools and playgrounds. A momentary excitement sprang up in her as she read the name on the school sign, knowing that she had seen that building on her map just that morning. And if memory served her correctly, there was a small public library just around the corner.

Pulling into the library's parking lot, Bella waited twenty minutes for the attendant to unlock the doors. The woman looked surprised to see a patron waiting at her door and although it was still ten minutes until opening time, she let Bella inside to take a look around. Bella, resisting the urge to examine the paperbacks on the first shelf, moved to the back where she assumed the public computers were kept.

She was not wrong, and soon found herself waiting for the large, bulky monitor to boot up. The kindly librarian who had let her in smiled fondly at her as she went about her business, putting books back on the shelves and tidying up the children's section. Once the computer had turned on, Bella clicked on the internet icon and opened up her Facebook account, breathing a sigh of relief.

She had not been to the library in the month since her electricity had been shut off in Seattle, and she hadn't spoken to anyone besides old Mr. Ferguson. Bella noted with some guilt that she had a total of ten private messages and three frantic posts from Angela on her wall. She checked her messages first.

 _From: Angela Weber  
_ _Bella, call me. Mom and dad called and they're worried. They say you haven't picked up the phone. Dad's going to stop by later and check on you._

That message was dated weeks ago, and Bella sighed. She remembered the day when Mr. Weber had come knocking on her front door. Eyes rimmed red with crying and breathing great gasps of air, Bella had clamped her hand over her mouth and ignored the door, relieved that she had remembered to lock it when she heard his hand try the knob. Bella had locked herself in before she had succumbed to her tears that day, and she was glad that no one would find her in such a state.

 _From: Angela Weber  
_ _Call Me!_

 _From:Angela Weber  
_ _BELLA! Pick up your phone. I've tried like four times._

 _From: Angela Weber  
_ _B! I love you. Call me please._

 _From: Caroline Weber  
_ _Bella honey, if you get this message please give us a call. Dennis and I would love to have you over for supper and I'd love some girl time. We know this is a hard time for you, but we miss you. Give me a call please._

 _From: Angela Weber  
_ _Bella for real. I'm super worried. Your phone is disconnected and no one's heard from you. Just a word, please. Tell me you're okay. Mom is going nuts and she doesn't know where to get ahold of you. Do you need me to drive down?_

 _From: Angela Weber  
_ _B. Call me ASAP._

 _From: Dennis Weber  
_ _I tried stopping by your place but no one answered. We're all very worried about you and would appreciate a phone call. Angela and Caroline are worried sick. Please call us when you get this message._

 _From: Angela Weber  
_ _Bell, call please. PLEASE. Mom is going nuts and she's going to call the police. She's only resisted because Mr. Ferguson told her you're actually alive. Love you lots._

 _From: Caroline Weber  
_ _Bella, honey, I don't know why you haven't checked your messages, but if we don't hear back from you by tomorrow I'm going to phone the police. I hope you're alright. We love you._

Bella flushed red and her eyes filled with tears. She noticed that Mrs. Weber's last post was from 12 hours ago, and wondered whether or not she would be too late to avoid a missing person's report. Opening up a new chat window, she checked to see who was online. Now that she was further away from the situation, she found it easier to explain the whole truth to kindly Mrs. Weber.

 _From: Bella Swan  
_ _Hi Mrs. Weber. Sorry I've been away. I lost my electricity a few weeks ago so I haven't been online. I promise I'm okay. The house is gone and I've decided to find someplace new to go. I'm not in Washington anymore, but I promise I'm okay. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye._

Bella paused here, pushing back the tendrils of guilt that were threatening to grab her. Mrs. Weber had always been a worrier, and Bella knew that these past weeks must have wreaked havoc on her.

 _I'll let Angela know I'm safe too. Thanks for everything you've done._

She hit send and watched as the message was sent, delivered, and read all at once. Mrs. Weber began typing immediately.

 _From: Caroline Weber  
_ _Bella, honey, where are you? Dennis and I want you to come and stay here for a little while, while you get everything sorted out._

 _From: Bella Swan  
_ _I'm already out of Washington. I drove all day yesterday and some of last night. I'm at a library right now, so I don't have any permanent means of communication. I'll call when I get a phone. I'm sorry._

 _From: Caroline Weber  
_ _Don't be sorry, honey. We are just so worried about you. Angela says she hasn't spoken to you in weeks, and Mr. Ferguson says you've barely been outside. He called and told us that a couple came by your house to take it back for the bank._

 _From: Bella Swan  
_ _It's my own fault. I didn't do what I had to do._

Bella knew this was a bit of a stretch, but she did not want Mrs. Weber worrying about her.

 _I'll get myself sorted out, I promise. I have to go now. Thanks for everything you've done._

Mrs. Weber was still typing when Bella clicked on Angela's name. She ignored the new message notification from Caroline's chat box.

 _From: Bella Swan  
_ _Hey Ang. I'm fine. I already messaged your mom so she knows too. I left Seattle (and Washington). Long story… no more house and no more job. I'm in California now and I don't know what I'm really gonna do yet, but when I get my phone set up I'll give you a call. Don't worry. I'm safe for now. Love you lots._

Bella sent the message and promptly logged out of Facebook, knowing that she would have a very difficult time resisting if Angela sent pleas for her to return. Bella had never been very good at resisting Angela, and she knew her willpower would be worn down to nothing if Angela began one of her guilt trips.

Bella sat, swallowing hard against the tears of nostalgia and longing that had come with talking to her old childhood friend. Mrs. Weber had always been so kind, and Bella missed Angela more than she had ever thought possible. Angela had become like a sister to her, and to leave her behind was one of the most difficult things Bella had ever had to do.

 _But,_ Bella reasoned _, Angela had left first._ Angela was the one who went halfway across the country to school where Bella could never reach her. It was only fitting, then, that Bella, too, be able to take her leave of home. Angela's path had diverged from her own, and it was about time that Bella began to forge her own way.

Bella knew that if she sat idle at the computer too long, the kind librarian would be forced to ask her to leave. Bella was well acquainted with the rules of the library, having spent so much time in one throughout her life. Libraries were safe spaces—quiet, cozy, and stuffed to the gills with books.

Bella opened a Google page and stared fixedly at it for a long moment before her fingers began to type. She felt both excited and nervous at the information she would find, and she pressed enter before she could chicken out.

Bella had seen plenty of photographs of her brother before—on tabloids, newspapers, talk shows, and even sometimes on her social media dashboards. When Charlie would work, Bella would often sneak down from her bedroom to the living room so she could watch celebrity gossip shows such as _eTalk!_ and see if Emmett was ever featured. Bella was not often disappointed. It seemed as if everything her brother did was documented, dissected, and discussed by strangers.

This time, Bella saw his dimpled, smiling face staring out at her from the screen, a little blonde woman wrapped on his arm.

 _Emmett and Heidi! The New Supercouple?_

 _Emmett Swan and Heidi Chornsky Spotted at Coffee Shop_

 _Poll: What Should Hollywood's New Supercouple be called? Heidem? Emmie?_

 _Emmett Swan Confirmed for Sequel!_

 _Swan's New Movie: Record-breaking Box Office Numbers? Click to Find Out!_

 _Throwback Thursday: Emmett's Football Youth_

Bella stared at the listing of articles, all featuring the blue-eyed, smiling face of her once-familiar brother. When Bella had known him, he had been only eighteen years old—smooth faced, long-haired, and never without one of his band t-shirts. Now, Bella noted, Emmett looked more grown up. Gone was the long, curly hair of his youth and instead, Bella saw that he had a close-shaven look that made him look very similar to their father. For the red-carpet, he seemed to have abandoned his band t-shirts in favour of a suit and tie—and they suited him quite well. Emmett also had a touch of a beard growing now, Bella noted with a reluctant grin, and he had lost quite a bit of roundness from his face.

It had been almost twelve years since Bella had laid eyes on him in the flesh. She wondered if he thought about her as much as she thought about him. She was only the kid sister, after all…

"He certainly is a dreamboat," said the little old librarian, sneaking up on Bella and making her jump. "What a fine looking young man."

Bella smiled but said nothing in return, closing the window on the computer and standing up. She watched the little lady struggle with a rusted cart of heavy books, and inspiration struck her.

"You're not looking for any help, are you?" she asked. "I'm on a job hunt."

"No, dear," said the lady with a sad smile. "I'm afraid not."

"Thanks anyways."

"Come back anytime," said the lady, and Bella walked swiftly towards the door. Her truck sputtered noisily, but did not turn over when she turned the key, and Bella felt her heart sink.

"Come on," she said, praying that it would start. She saw the little librarian watching her with a piteous frown on her face as the truck finally roared to life, albeit with a little more difficulty than usual. Bella wondered, for a brief moment, if yesterday's long trip had finally done it in.

She would not let herself even _think_ it, as without her truck, she was even more destitute than she already was.

Bella drove back to the main road she'd been on earlier in the day, and drove as carefully as she could for another two hours, all the while moving into more densely populated areas of town. She passed markets and stores, boutiques and shops catering to anything and everything she could think of. Restaurants serving all kinds of foods, from Mexican, to Vietnamese, to Thai, to Italian. She passed a high-end sushi shop. A street vendor selling knock-off Prada bags. A man on the street whose sole job seemed to be painting caricatures of tourists who stopped and giddily sat for their portraits.

Bella felt the rumble of her truck before she heard it. With a loud curse she pulled off the bustling main road and into one of the scanty side-streets filled with apartment blocks. The truck began to whine and clatter as she floored the gas one final time, urging it into a parking spot behind a tall, grey building with a long set of emergency stairs. Bella just had time to pull the emergency break before the truck gave one last, loud rumble, and the engine stopped.

When Bella, hopeful until the last, turned the key, it didn't even make a sound.

 **A/N: I hope you're enjoying this story! Let me know what you think.**

 **Also, for those of you who are interested, the last chapter of _Rescue Me_ went up today, so as of today, it is complete. Thanks to those of you who stuck with it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Please send me your love (or hate) at the end! I love hearing what you have to say!**

Chapter 4

Bella sat stock still for what felt like an eternity while the reality of this new development flooded through her. Her truck wouldn't start. Her truck would _not_ start.

She tried again.

And again.

When there wasn't so much as a squeak from the obstinate engine, she slammed her hands down on the steering wheel. The curse she let out was so loud and vehement that she attracted the attention of a woman making her way up those long emergency stairs.

Breathing hard, Bella fought to stave off her panic. She had been counting on her truck to get her through these first few days in her new city—how else would she find her way around? How else was she supposed to get resumes out, and hopefully land herself a job? How could she get to a library to find job listings when she had no money for a bus or subway, and now no truck to take her there? How would she protect herself, with nothing more than a broken down tin can for shelter and her whole life packed up in the back?

Without the truck, Bella had a whopping $150 to her name, and she had no idea what she was going to do. She had no friends to help her, and no idea where she could find any kind faces.

"Goddamn it!" she shouted, and her tears began to flow. The old lady, still making her way up the emergency stairs, looked down again and began to walk a little faster, shuffling her feet as quickly as she could to get away. Bella knew she must look quite insane, hands holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, face blotchy and red from anger and tears, and chest heaving.

Feeling suffocated in the cab of her truck, Bella flung the door open and, checking that the tarp concealing her boxes was still secure, walked swiftly away. Map in hand, she put her hood up against prying eyes and began to stalk down the streets, hoping for something, _anything_ , that might help her find her way. Some kind of mission or shelter, perhaps. A service station. A store that didn't look like it was in imminent danger of being robbed. Hell, even a church would do in her time of need. Bella had given up on institutionalized religion long ago, but in her time of need, she wouldn't turn her nose up to a kindly preacher.

Bella saw none of these things as she stalked aimlessly up and down the streets, the sun rising ever higher in the sky. By the time she had calmed down the sun was directly overhead, beating down on her and making little beads of sweat slide down her back. Disgruntled, she tore the sweater from her body and tied the arms around her waist, ignoring the niggling voice in her head that told her she looked like a lost middle-schooler.

Entering the first restaurant she came across, Bella sought out the team leader and asked about job openings.

"Any experience?" asked the woman gruffly.

"Yes," said Bella. "Six years in Washington." The woman gave her a frowning once-over, taking in her knotted hair and sweaty t-shirt.

"Where you living?" she asked, and Bella hedged.

"I'm…" The woman snorted and shook her head.

"We don't give jobs to hobos," she snapped. "It ain't good for business. Now either pay for something to eat, or leave."

Such was the response from three other restaurants, and Bella continued to walk, searching.

Hunger gnawed at her again as her walking caught up with her, but determined as she was to preserve her money for as long as she could, Bella ignored it and pushed on. She passed some townhouses and more dingy apartments. Once or twice she saw a park, some with broken swings, and some with nothing but rotting wooden benches. No children played there, and Bella could see why they kept away. She wouldn't have wanted such a dismal play space either.

One block in particular tickled her fancy, so she decided to take another walk around before the sun got too low and she would have to turn back. The road she was on contained nothing but townhouses, built so close together that Bella didn't think a slip of paper could have fit in between them. One or two of the gardens were well-tended and pristine, but for the majority, they were overgrown and unkempt. Bella saw a little dog chained up in front of one of the houses, and jumped in surprise when it reared up and barked as she passed.

" _Intruder!"_ it seemed to bark. Bella walked faster. _"Intruder! Intruder!"_

"Oh shut up!" roared another, much louder voice, and Bella jumped in fear this time. Turning around, she saw a tall, built, blonde man prowl from the front door to jerk the dog's chain and stop its barking. "Little shit," he snapped, and the dog fell silent.

Bella stared.

"You want something?" asked the man pointedly, tossing a long ponytail over his shoulder. To Bella's dismay, he pushed the dog inside with his foot and shut the door behind it, walking over to where she stood.

"No," said Bella quickly, turning away. "Sorry."

"No, hey, wait," said the man, and Bella felt a well of panic rise in her. She remembered all the things her father had told her about dealing with assailants, about warning off unwanted men…

"Hey," he said again, and Bella was startled to find him right behind her. She wheeled around, prepared to strike, and the man lifted his hands in surrender.

"Whoa, chill out," he said, taking a quick step back. Bella stood firm, staring at him and trying to remember the basic self-defence her father had taught her.

 _S… Solar plexus._

 _I… Instep._

 _N… Nose…_

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" asked the man, and Bella blinked twice before she processed the question.

"Something like that," she said, and the man laughed. Bella, irked, turned and began to walk again, frowning when she heard the footsteps following behind her.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, catching up with her.

"What?" demanded Bella, more forcefully than she'd intended.

"Easy, tiger," said the stranger, and Bella walked a little quicker.

"Damn, girl!" exclaimed the man, wrapping a hand around her wrist. Bella snatched it back.

"What do you want?" she demanded, wondering why in the world she had ventured off into a strange city without the can of pepper spray Charlie had always made her carry.

"You look like you could use some help," said the man, shrugging. "I'd hate to see you in trouble."

"You don't even know me," said Bella scathingly, glaring daggers at the man's open, wide-eyed face.

"Well, that can be changed," he said, and Bella narrowed her eyes at his attempt to charm her. She was the daughter of a police officer, after all, and she would have none of his tricks.

"Oh yeah?" she said skeptically. "I doubt it. I just want to get back to my truck and go to bed."

It wasn't a total lie.

"Your truck?" said the man, eyebrows raised. "You sleep in a truck?"

Bella didn't answer, but turned and continued to walk.

"Hey, I'm not judging," he said, easily keeping up her quick pace. "I mean, hell, we've all fallen on hard times, no?"

Bella didn't answer, wishing beyond hope that she would come across some other people.

"Alright, a quiet one," laughed the stranger. "You like sleeping in your truck?"

"No," said Bella tersely, moving towards what she hoped was a better-lit area. The sun was going down and she had no idea where she was.

"So why are you?"

"You're pretty nosy," she snapped, running to cross the street. The man followed.

"And you're pretty evasive," he countered easily. "Come on. What's a girl like you doing all the way out here?"

"Out where?" asked Bella, grimacing.

"Shit City," said the man, laughing to himself. "All kinds of unsavoury folks around here."

"I won't be here long," Bella said, vowing it to be true. "I've just got to find a job and I'll be off."

"Good luck with that one," laughed the stranger. "No one's gonna hire you until you find yourself a place to live. And no one's gonna rent to you until they know you're employed. Catch 22, see?"

Bella didn't respond, ignoring the flash of fear she felt.

"Need someplace to stay?" asked the man finally, after a minute of silent walking.

"No."

The man laughed.

"I hope you didn't leave any valuables in that truck-house of yours," he said suddenly, and Bella frowned.

"No…"

"Because if you did," he crowed, "it'll be gone by now. The people around here are like vultures, I swear."

Bella walked all the quicker, wondering what she could have been thinking to abandon her boxes.

"Your dog is probably waiting for you," said Bella suddenly, as the apartment blocks from earlier this morning began to reappear. She passed a sandwich shop and ignored the answering rumbling from her stomach at the smell of fresh bread.

"That little shit isn't mine," said the man abruptly. He spoke with such an indignant voice that Bella would have laughed if she hadn't been so wary.

"Sorry," she said, forcing down a smile.

"That thing belongs to Laurent," he said, a sneer twisting his mouth. "Biggest pansy I ever met."

Bella scowled at his assessment and sighed in relief as they reached her truck, still in the parking lot, its tarp untouched.

"That's yours?" asked the stranger incredulously, barking out a laugh as Bella stopped dead. A jolt of fear shot through her.

Now he knew where she lived.

"Gotta say, that thing looks pretty antique," he said, and Bella only just suppressed the urge to slap his hand away when he ran it over the fender.

"It's just old," said Bella, and even to her ears, she sounded childish. The stranger barked out a laugh.

"Are you gonna tell me your name, or do I need to invent one for you?" he asked, leaning suavely against the driver's door.

"No."

"No?" he asked, brows raised.

"No," repeated Bella, nudging him off of her door.

"Sydney?" he asked.

"No."

"Katie?"

"No."

"Sabrina?"

"No," said Bella, annoyed. "Move. I'm gonna take a nap."

"You do that, Kitten," said the stranger, and Bella wheeled around.

"What?"

"You're not nearly as fierce as you think you are," he said, winking as he laughed. Bella stared in angry disbelief, ready to retort, but before she could, he spoke again.

"I'm James. Nice to meet you."

Bella stared, flushed with fury as the strange man, James, turned around and walked jovially out of the parking lot, whistling all the way.

* * *

Bella had a difficult time getting to sleep that night, despite her exhaustion from the last few days. Between her raging hunger and her lingering fear of the strange man, she could not find it in her to settle down to sleep. She was wary of any passerby, lest they be some kind of thief or assailant, and only when her watch read 11 did she finally settle down enough to get some rest.

When she awoke the next morning it was with a jolt of surprise and confusion. The morning sun was beating down on the truck, turning it into a hotbox, and Bella quickly pushed her quilt to the floor. The chrome mirrors on either door reflected beaming sunlight back at her, and she squinted as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. A quick look around told her that no threat lurked nearby so she gingerly cracked the window using the old crank on the door, taking a deep breath of the much cooler, less stagnant outside air.

Her watch told her it was nearing noon and she stretched carefully, feeling her stomach protest. She hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday, and she was starved.

Glancing out of the little back window in the truck, Bella took quick stock of her belongings piled in the back, wondering how she might make them more secure when she ventured off again. She was just about to ask herself what she could reasonably fit into the cab itself when she caught sight of something sitting on top of the tarp.

A brown paper bag.

Curiosity warred with the caution in her brain, and Bella sat for a moment, debating whether she should go and see what it was. The bag sat innocently enough, looking unbothered by the blaring sun, and Bella could detect no strange person around her truck that might be responsible for it.

In the end, curiosity won out and she gingerly exited the truck, taking care to stretch her cramped legs. She had to reach on tip-toe to reach the bag but once she did, the smell of fried food assaulted her at once. Confusion tore through her but her stomach was having none of it, and Bella opened the bag to find a small, handwritten note.

 _Kitten,_

 _I don't know where you came from or why in hell's name you chose here to settle, but you looked a little hungry yesterday. You know where to find me if you need me. Just tell Laurent you're my friend and he'll let you in. You look like you could use a friend. We even have a shower._

Bella paused at this, eyes wide and a strange feeling of gratitude welling up in her.

 _Anyways, enjoy the food. It's from that little diner around the corner from where you're parked._

 _-James_

Bella stared at the note before she glanced carefully into the bag. Her brain was screaming at her, demanding she acknowledge the risks of eating strange food from a strange man—what if he planned to kidnap her?—but her hunger won out. Taking the bag back into the cab of the truck, she eagerly disemboweled it to find a can of soda, a serving of French fries, and a large, greasy burger.

Bella didn't care that the food, obviously having sat out for a while, was soggy and a little cold. She didn't care that the condensation from the soda can had seeped through the cardboard box holding the fries, or that there was no ketchup to dip them in. She devoured the entire meal like it was the best food she'd ever eaten, and finished off the soda in four big gulps.

She felt only slightly ashamed of herself when she had finished, knowing that she had eaten her food like a total animal. She only cared a bit that the strange old woman from the fire escape had stared, bug-eyed, as she ate, shaking her head before she collected a cat from its dumpster prowling and moved back up the stairs.

As Bella sat in the driver's seat, twisting the empty paper bag in her hands, she found herself wondering about the strange man who had shown her this unexpected kindness. All her life, she had been warned against trusting strangers, as Charlie had seen all too often the results of trusting women meeting with ill-reputed men. Time and time again Charlie had come home raging and had always lectured Bella on how to not get caught up in something you would have a hard time getting out of.

" _Don't trust no one, Bells,"_ he would say. _"Don't trust anyone until you know them. And even then. You never know what kind of person you'll come across. Better to be a little uncomfortable than to trust a stranger to do right by you."_ Her father's words had stuck with her, even long after the lectures had stopped.

 _But,_ Bella thought _, Charlie had never been faced with this kind of situation. Charlie had never been a woman, alone and destitute, in a strange city without any way to get back home. Charlie had never been scared or hungry, or so terribly, horribly alone._

Bella halted that dangerous thinking in its tracks, shaking her head.

No. No, she would not go running to this random stranger she'd met not even 24 hours ago in a strange city. She would not risk her safety, though he had brought her food. Even if he did have a shower.

* * *

The next week passed in a boring blur for Bella. The truck, which had so faithfully carried her to California, resolutely refused to budge, no matter how much she tinkered under the hood. Bella knew very little about the inner workings of engines and the like, but after years of driving around Seattle, she had learned the basics of what went where on her old truck. As far as she could tell, every wire was in its place and not one piece looked askew. She could not solve the puzzle on her own, so she resigned herself to its end.

On her third night in the truck, Bella had been unceremoniously awoken in the night to find two pale-faced teens rummaging through her boxes. She had angrily leapt from the cab, shouting expletives at the two thieves, who had scarpered with armfuls of things from the boxes closest to the back of the truck. Angry tears flowing down her face, she had used the flashlight in the glove compartment to try and figure out what they had taken. Luckily, most of the real valuables were further out of reach, but Bella had battled unsuccessfully with her sadness when she'd discovered that they'd made away with a pile of her father's clothes and his old work boots.

On her seventh day in California, Bella woke not to the sunshine and warmth she had grown to expect, but to a torrential downpour of rain. Thinking she would be smart last night, Bella had cracked both windows open just a little bit to help the heat escape and prevent the truck from turning into a sauna.

 _Of course,_ she thought bitterly, _the one night I try and be smart, I end up worse than ever._

The rain poured in through the driver's side window and Bella, her pillow and blanket soaked through, angrily cranked it back up. The night air was crisp, and Bella found herself shivering in her seat, hoping her boxes would be safe under their tarp.

Glancing down at her wrist, she saw that it was only half past two in the morning. Although she had been trying to ignore it, Bella knew that the now-wet bedding would start to smell even worse, as her days of sweating and prowling about the city without a shower were beginning to catch up with her. Yesterday, Bella hadn't even bothered trying to get out to restaurants for applications, as she knew the look and smell of her would earn her no favours.

Glancing up at the rain, a spark of inspiration hit her. She slipped outside and let the water crash down over her. Bella liked the rain—she was used to it, having grown up in such a rainy city as Seattle. The rain here was warmer than it was at home, but the cool breeze nipped at her as she stood, arms outstretched.

It was the closest thing to a shower she would find for the moment, and with only a brief look around, she slipped out of her t-shirt. She knew she would find other clothes in her boxes, so she used the old shirt to wipe down her arms and torso as best she could.

She really hoped the strange old woman from the fire escape could not see her now. Bella had wondered how close the stranger was to calling the police, as she seemed to take especial offence whenever she saw Bella and her truck.

Bella pushed the old woman out of her mind and focused only on washing off, trying her best to draw her fingers through her dripping, tangled hair. How she wished her hairbrush was accessible—she had stupidly packed it away in one of the boxes. In her frenzy of packing, she hadn't thought to pack a bag of necessities for more immediate use. She had not planned on living out of the truck—she had thought that by now, she would have some prospect of a job, and maybe some kind of living arrangement.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Bella sighed, taking her soaked shirt and ringing it out. A quick glance around told her that no one was looking, so she slipped out of her jeans as well. They were filthy, and she could not bring herself to keep them on.

After a quick rummage through the back of her truck, all the while praying that no prying eyes would see her in her underwear, she grabbed an old pair of yoga pants and a blue t-shirt. Bella knew there were other, more comfortable clothing packed away somewhere in the truck, but in the dead of night with only the meagre light from the streetlamp to guide her, she was not about to go digging.

Bella used the soaked quilt to wipe down the leather seat of her truck before she sat down carefully and slipped into her new clothes, relishing the feeling of cleanliness. Part of her was burning with embarrassment at what had just transpired—had she really sunk low enough to strip down in a parking lot to wash in the rain?—but an even bigger part of her felt relief. She was clean, at least, and if she could find her hairbrush tomorrow, she might be able to get some more job-hunting done…

Bella fell asleep on the cold leather that night, pillow and blanket abandoned in their soggy pile on the floor.

* * *

Bella was awoken by a firm rapping on the driver's side window. She did not want to get up.

"Hey!" a voice shouted from outside the truck. "Wake up!"

Bella cracked an eye open, squinting against the darkness.

"Kitten, get up!" shouted the voice, and Bella looked up to see James, ponytail and all, peering in her window. She scowled.

"Go away," she said, frowning. "What do you want?"

"That crazy old bitch just called the cops on you!" said James urgently, gesturing to the wild-eyed woman who lurked on the emergency stairs. "Come on, and maybe they won't catch you!"

Fear seeped in—not in a rush, as was so common since her father's death, but like an eerie, haunting beast stalking up her back. Bella had a healthy fear of the law—she had seen how tough her father could be with criminals and miscreants. Bella, having visited her father's office many times in her youth, knew first-hand the ugly truths of prison cells and legal procedures. Bella had seen, through her father's work, many lives ruined by arrests and prison stints. She knew, without a doubt, that she _could_ be arrested for trespassing, though a kind officer would not be so cruel. She also knew that if she was arrested, there would be no hope of her finding a job.

James wiggled the door handle in a pointed way and Bella reached out and flicked the lock. He opened it immediately, glancing up at the old, wide-eyed woman. She shook her head and stalked up the stairs again, her cat writhing in her arms. James reached into the truck and wrapped his hand over Bella's wrist, pulling her insistently out of her truck. He set her down by her sodden shoes—she had left them outside overnight.

"Here," said James urgently, eyes flashing up to the fire escape. The woman looked alarmingly bug-eyed. "Before they get here." James allowed her only a few seconds to put her shoes on before he dragged her off towards the main road, leaving her truck unlocked.

"My truck," said Bella stupidly, glancing back at it as James ushered her away. "My stuff!"

"Never mind that," said James, shaking his head. "Nothing in there is worth getting arrested for."

"But…"

"You have no idea what the cops are like here," said James darkly. "A little girl like you? They'll take you in as a prostitute."

"I am _not…"_ began Bella hotly, but James cut her off.

"Oh believe me, I know," said James darkly. "You're no whore, that's for sure. But they won't care. They'll tow the truck to impound, and you can go and get it later."

"With what?" demanded Bella, suddenly fearful. "Peanuts? All of my money is in there…"

"We'll figure it out," said James, tugging her down a side-street. Bella heard sirens in the distance, and her eyes welled up.

"That's all I have," she said and James looked down at her. His eyes seemed to soften for a minute, and when he spoke, it was with a gentle, patient voice.

"I know," he sighed. "You're in a shitty situation, that's for sure, but don't worry Kitten. I won't let you starve."

Bella had no idea what he meant by that, but she kept still as a police cruiser crept by.

"Come on," said James in a low voice, moving further into the dark alleyway. The sun was just beginning to peek into the sky, sending weak blue light over the grey brick buildings. Bella's eyes were itching and sandy, and her hair was still wet.

"Did you get caught in the rain?" asked James idly, rubbing his fingers over her hair. "Does that truck leak?"

Bella flushed red.

"No," she said hesitantly, stepping away so he could not reach her.

James quirked an eyebrow and laughed, shaking his head.

"We have a shower, Kitten," he said. "I told you that in my letter. You did get it, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Bella. "Thanks." The last word was tacked on, almost as an afterthought, and Bella grew hot with embarrassment.

"Plenty more where that came from," said James, seeming not to notice her redness. "Come on. I'll take you home. There's a bed waiting."

"Why are you being so nice to me? What's in it for you?" demanded Bella, following after James as he carefully checked the streets before venturing out.

"If I don't, who else will?" he said easily, winking at her.

In that moment, as the sun poked its orange head out over the sprawling metropolis, Bella found herself remembering her father's warning voice. Staring up at James, his ponytail glinting in the light, she knew exactly what her father would say if he could see her now. _Don't trust him, Bells. You don't know him. You don't know what he wants…_ Bella hesitated at the alley's entrance.

"Well, come on," said James, waving an hand at her as she stalled.

"I…"

"Where else are you going to go?" he demanded, suddenly impatient. "I mean, really. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it by now."

Bella flushed again.

"I didn't say you wanted to hurt me," she snapped, anger rearing up. "It's just…"

"Just what?" asked James, stalking back towards her. He stopped in front of her, his height dwarfing her and blocking out the sun, which was turning the sky a brilliant pink.

"I…"

"You're impossible," said James, tossing his head back. "Here I am, trying to help you, and you're just…"

He did not say what she _just_ was, but Bella could infer.

"I'm going home," said James finally, turning to face her. "Come with me or don't. It's up to you." He walked away without another glance back, and Bella stood, rooted to the spot.

 _He had a shower. He had food. He had a house…_

"Wait!" she shouted, jogging to catch up with him. He was already half a block ahead. James did not stop or turn around, but he did slow his pace until she caught up with him, out of breath.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, the words sticky on her tongue. "I didn't mean to be rude…"

"Not everyone is your enemy, Kitten," he said, though he did not meet her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I never said…"

"You didn't have to," said James quietly, meeting her gaze for a brief moment. "I know how to read a girl, believe me." He looked away. A thrill of fear coursed through her at those words, but Bella pushed it down. They walked in awkward silence for a few minutes.

"Where are we going?" she asked finally, taking quick steps to keep up with him.

"To Laurent's," he said. "Where I was last time."

"Do you live there?"

"No," he said. "I live a few miles away. But Laurent's is closer, and you could use some food and a shower."

"He won't mind me, will he?" asked Bella anxiously, though she felt gleefully excited at the prospect of food and a proper wash.

"No," laughed James, tossing his blonde head. "God, no..."

Bella did not know what to say.

Before long, they came upon the quiet side-street filled with townhouses that Bella had been inexplicably drawn to all those days ago. She saw the unkempt yard, the empty dog house, and overgrown front path as she walked over it, coming face-to-face with a dirty white door.

"Knock, knock," said James, pushing the door open. He stepped aside to let Bella in.

"Hey Jay." The tall, dark man was lounging idly on the sofa, his eyebrows raising at the sight of Bella.

"Who's this?" he asked.

"Kitten," said James, smirking as Bella bristled. "Or at least, that's what she's letting me call her."

The man chuckled.

"Well, welcome," he said, stretching. "If you're a…uh… _friend_ of James', you're welcome here."

Bella did not miss the smirking, sarcastic way he said _friend._ The man stood, cracking his back, and stepped forward.

"I'm Laurent," he said, taking her hand carefully. His grip was firm and his hand was warm.

"Hi."

Laurent glanced quickly at James before he looked her over, taking in her black yoga pants and ragged shirt.

"We have a shower upstairs," he said, letting go of her hand, "and James has promised you breakfast?"

Bella nodded.

"I'll find something for you to wear, too," he said. "We can throw your things in the wash later on."

Bella could not speak, but nodded again.

"Towels are in the hall closet," said James, sidestepping Bella to rummage in a pantry. "Bathroom is upstairs, second door on the right."

Bella stared at him as he took out a loaf of bread. Her stomach growled.

"Go shower," said James, chuckling. "I'll whip something up while you're in there."

Bella did not need telling twice.

 **A/N: Let me know what you think! I love hearing from you!**

 **Also, if you aren't already, follow me on twitter at Moonchild_707. I'm trying to keep it updated! I'm striving for a weekend update time for this story, so keep an eye out next weekend for another chapter or two!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The shower was warm and when she got downstairs, her mouth watered at the smell of bacon and eggs. Someone—either James or Laurent—had found her some jeans and a tank top to wear, and had even managed to rustle up an old hairbrush and a stick of deodorant. Bella flushed, knowing _why_ they had been so courteous, but applied it generously, happy that she no longer smelled.

Her hair was another story altogether. Having neglected it since her arrival in California, and especially after her rainwater bath the night before, she found it much more difficult to draw the brush through it. She was sure both men downstairs could hear her grumbling and cursing as she caught it on snag after snag, fighting the urge to give up. She could not, however, face either one of them looking as disheveled as she did, so she mustered up all the patience and calm she could. Piece by piece, she detangled her hair until it shone down her back, and Bella was content.

The breakfast food was another story altogether. James and Laurent both laughed heartily at her when she shovelled the first piece of toast into her mouth, barely stopping to chew. Her stomach, protesting at first, seemed to grow hungrier and hungrier the more she ate. James offered her a second plate, and she ate that just as vehemently as she had the first.

She declined a third helping not because she was not hungry, but because she felt it would be rude. She did not want to wear out her welcome, after all.

"I've never seen a girl eat like that," laughed Laurent, sitting back with his feet on an empty chair. "How long have you been living out here?"

"Not long," said Bella, cleaning her throat as she carried her plate to the sink. James took it from her and urged her to sit down.

"Where you from?" asked Laurent, and James turned to look at him. Bella could not put her finger on it, but something about the way James stared at his friend made her squirm.

"Washington," she said. Laurent whistled.

"What brought you all the way out here?" he asked, leaning in.

"Oh, you know…" Bella shifted her eyes to the floor. The little dog stared up at her from under the table, its tail wagging eagerly. She supposed it was hoping for scraps.

"No, I don't," said Laurent, leaving James to wash up. "I've never lived anywhere but here."

"Nothing left in Washington," said Bella reluctantly, glancing up.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Bella went silent.

"Someday, Kitten," said James, turning around. "I'll get that name out of you."

Bella didn't respond, but reached down to pat the little dog. It leaned in eagerly, letting her scratch its ears.

"That's Trixie," said Laurent. Bella suppressed a laugh at the gentleness of his voice as he said the dog's name. Laurent's eyes had softened, and he was peeking at his little companion under the table.

"She's sweet," said Bella, ducking her head to hide her grin. James laughed, hitting Laurent on the shoulder with a dish towel.

"Even Kitten thinks you're ridiculous," he crowed, and Laurent scowled. Bella went red.

"She's a cute dog," defended Bella, sitting back as the little dog jumped on her lap.

"Well, if she likes you, you can stay as long as you want," said Laurent, throwing a nasty glare at James. _"You,_ on the other hand…"

"Now, now," said James, drying his hands on his towel. "That dog has always hated me, ever since you got her."

"Exactly," said Laurent. "She's got good taste, that's all."

James scoffed.

"Leave that ugly little thing here, Kitten. Come with me." James moved close enough to push the dog away and it barked angrily at him as he came near. Bella found herself wishing she could keep it close.

"You're tired and need a bed," said James, and Bella could not refute him.

"Put her in Kate's room," said Laurent, gesturing upstairs. "That one's got the…"

"Yeah," said James, cutting him off with a pointed stare. "I know."

Bella looked between them.

"The what?" she asked. The food and the shower had made her complacent, but every so often, when James used a certain tone of voice, she felt fear creeping back in.

"A lock," said James gruffly, glaring at Laurent. "In case…"

"In case what?" she asked, standing quickly. "What?"

Her chest felt tight.

"Jesus, calm down," said James, frowning at her. "Laurent's got roommates, that's all. Kate, uh… _moved out_ ," he said the words carefully, "so it's empty. Don't want none of the guys walking in on you, that's all."

Bella glanced carefully at Laurent, as if she could trust him anymore than she did James, and he nodded encouragingly.

"Katie went back home," he said easily. "Her folks live down in Arkansas."

James took her by the hand and pulled her forward, leaving her no choice but to follow.

"Thanks for the food," she said, letting James lead her up to the second floor. The stairs creaked as she walked, and Bella tried not to take note of the piles of laundry and trash in the hallway. She had only briefly noticed them on her way to the shower, but now, she wondered who really lived here. How many others…

James opened the door to a small bedroom at the back corner of the house, the window looking out on the backyard, which was wasn't much bigger than a postage stamp. Bella understood now why they kept the dog tied out front.

"There you go," he said, waving a hand unceremoniously at the bed. It was sparse, with nothing more than a fitted sheet and an old cotton blanket, but James soon found an old pillow and tossed it up for her.

"Get some sleep. Someone will be downstairs when you wake up."

Bella pushed back her misgivings as she slipped into the bed. It was not the most comfortable bed she had ever slept on, but in her moment of exhaustion, she didn't complain. She just had enough wherewithal to flick the doorknob lock behind James as he closed the door before she fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Bella woke from her nap, it was to the smell of something foul emanating from the lower floor. Bella cracked her eyes open, confused to see smoke rising from the floor vent opposite her. Bella knew the smell of burning—she had grown up with Charlie's cooking, after all—and this was not it, though the smoke did make her eyes water and her nose crinkle.

Opening the bedroom door was not much better, as voices fluttered up with more smoke. Bella coughed and waved her hand in front of her face, squinting through the haze. There was a chorus of raucous laughter that rang up the staircase. As she descended, her feet made the stairs squeak.

"Is that you, Kitten?" James' call was greeted by another peal of laughter—this time, more feminine.

"What the hell kind of name is that?" asked a crowing, raspy voice. "Kitten?"

"She won't tell me her name!" said James, his voice growing louder. "I dunno what to call her, so I went with Kitten. You'll understand when you see her…"

"Sounds like a…" The woman's voice petered out as Bella reached the bottom of the stairs. When she peeked her head into the small living room she choked on the cloud of smoke, making everyone laugh again.

"Kitten," said James, passing his cigarette—was it a cigarette?—to the woman sitting next to him. "Come. Sit."

Bella sat carefully on the sofa next to James, ignoring all the eyes on her.

"Good sleep?" he asked, throwing an arm around her shoulders. Bella shrugged.

"Smoke?" he offered, taking his joint back from the strange woman and offering it to her. Bella's mouth turned down and she shook her head. Laurent laughed at her.

"Might take the edge off," he said suddenly, and James choked.

"Shut up," he said, chuckling as he threw a couch cushion at Laurent. "She doesn't know about that yet."

"About what?" asked Bella, looking around, but James shushed her.

"Oh for god's sake," said the woman suddenly, leaning around James with a frown on her face. "You haven't told her?"

"Told me what?" asked Bella, growing angry. "What's going on?"

"I grabbed some of your boxes," said James suddenly, pushing the woman away from him. Bella jumped when she hit her head on the edge of an end-table, muttering mutinously. The woman rubbed the sore spot, glaring daggers, but once Bella processed James' words, the woman fell from her mind.

"My boxes?" she asked, not daring to believe it. "Where?"

"Kitchen," said James, pointing her in the right direction. "They hadn't towed the truck yet, so I borrowed Felix's car and grabbed some of them for you."

The aforementioned Felix nodded silently from his place on the opposite wall, watching her carefully as she jumped up.

"I didn't get everything!" shouted James, ignoring the laughter at the sight of her darting out. Bella did not care. She did not stop to thank him or even to look at him, but skidded to a stop by the kitchen counter, where four of her boxes sat.

Bella opened them with relish.

Inside, she was relieved to find the box of things she had taken from Charlie's room—old fishing photos, a few trinkets, and most importantly, the little black book of addresses. Bella had all but forgotten about it, and a pang of guilt and shame hit her hard. She took it up in her hands, pushing back the sting of tears from her eyes, and slipped it into the back pocket of the jeans she had been given.

The other three, much to her dismay, were not nearly as sentimental or important. One contained her old school work—why she had taken that, she would never know—and the other two held nothing but men's flannel shirts and a few novels from her shelves. Bella, rummaging through, was saddened to find that her brother's old university t-shirt, the one he had given her on that last Christmas at home, was not there.

"Sorry I couldn't grab more," said James, appearing behind her. Bella dropped the novel she was holding back into the box and turned around, determined that her chin should not quiver. She would not let him see her cry.

"They'll have towed it by now, or else I'd go back and grab more," he said quietly, sitting down next to her. Bella said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her tears of disappointment at bay. She did not know what she had expected the boxes to contain, but she wished it could be more than _this._

"Do you really not smoke?" he asked, holding the smelly joint out to her. Bella, her father's daughter to the core, shook her head and turned away.

"Ah, more for me then," said James easily. "Come and meet everyone."

Bella sat in between the woman who had hit her head on the table and James as he went around the room, pointing people out.

"That's Laurent, as you know," he began, pointing at the one familiar face in the crowd. "That's Felix, and Demitri, and Alec…" The strange men nodded sombrely at her as James gave their names, and Bella ignored the prickle of discomfort that ran down her spine.

"Oh, and Jane," said James, waving a dismissive hand towards the blonde woman sitting next to her. Jane looked at him, scowling as she nursed the sore spot on her head, chewing loudly on a piece of gum.

Bella took a good look at Jane then, trying not to stare. She looked to be a few years older than Bella—somewhere around Emmett's age, she supposed—but the years had not been kind to her. She was wearing a small leather skirt that was so short that her underwear almost poked out when she sat down. Her stained tank top did not smell dirty, quite the opposite, in fact—she smelled like she had bathed in perfume—but it did not look new or well kept. Her hair, thin and blonde, was tied in a hard knot on the back of her head, and her eyes were sunken and tired. She might have been pretty once, Bella guessed, but years of hardship had evidently done a number on her.

"Nice to meet you, Kitten," said Jane, unable to stop her chuckle at the name. "Is that really what you want us to call you?"

"No," said Bella vehemently, keeping her eyes off of James. "I didn't ask him to call me that."

"Ah, that figures," said Jane, lifting her eyebrow at James. "Jaime here isn't known for his tact…"

"Shut up," said James angrily. Bella, not a moment too soon, jumped out of the way as James flung out a hand at Jane. The resounding _slap_ made everyone in the room hoot with laughter, even as Jane yelled expletives.

Bella stood, shell shocked.

"You're scaring your girl, James," said Laurent finally, turning to Bella.

"Sit down, Kitten," said James gruffly. He was gentler with her than he had been with Jane, but his grip on her wrist was firm and commanding. She sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion. The warning prickles that had been coursing down her spine since she had been led upstairs earlier in the day picked up again, and she knew what she would have to do.

She could not stay here.

"You've been really kind…" started Bella, but James cut her off. When she looked at his face, she saw something she had never seen there before—a cold, icy gleam in his big blue eyes.

"What do you want for dinner?" he asked, not looking away. "I can get some food from that little diner again, or I'm sure you could rustle something up from here."

Bella, startled at this change of pace, did not notice the silence of everyone else in the room.

"Um…"

"Do you cook?" asked James, pulling her so that her back was resting on his arm. He wrapped a hand around her shoulder. "Are you a good cook, Kitten?"

Bella nodded.

"Good," he said. "Laurent, show her what you have. I'm not fussy."

"Sure," said Laurent, and Bella noticed he spoke with a new politeness. "Come with me, girl."

Laurent's hand closed on hers and he fairly dragged her into the kitchen where she stood, breathing hard.

What was going on?

"You'll want to be careful," said Laurent, speaking once the conversation had picked back up in the living room. "James has a bit of a…"

"What?" asked Bella, her voice a harsh whisper. "What is going on?"

"Just don't upset him, okay?" said Laurent, and for the first time, Bella saw a hint of fear in the man's eyes.

"Why not?" she asked, moving closer as he rummaged for canned pasta sauce in the pantry. Laurent laughed darkly.

"Just…" he began, shaking his head. "Behave. He seems to like you, and that's more I can say for any of the others…"

"What others?" demanded Bella, fear coursing through her. "What are you talking about?"

Laurent met her confused, anxious gaze with a disbelieving one of his own. They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment before Laurent sighed, looking away.

"Do you honestly not know who he is?" he asked, listening closely for any sign of approaching footsteps.

"He told me his name…" said Bella, breaking out in a cold sweat. Her dad's voice, always nagging in the back of her mind, had been right. She should never have come here…

"You came here with a total stranger?" asked Laurent, sounding incredulous. "Are you really that naïve?"

"What?" Laurent opened his mouth to retort, but his reply was cut short. At the sound of the voice, Laurent's face smoothed into a cool, indifferent mask.

"All well in here?" asked James suddenly, his voice echoing through the kitchen. "Not telling tales to my girl, are you?"

"Nah," said Laurent easily, and Bella stood still as Laurent moved away from her. "Just showing her where to find the sauce."

Laurent looked innocently at James as James stared intently back, assessing him.

"Make enough for everyone." James spoke to Bella, turning to face her after his moment of scrutiny. "Yourself too. Everyone is staying for dinner tonight."

"Sure," said Bella, trying hard to keep her voice light. _Who was this man, really?_

"And you can keep Katie's room," said James, coming up behind her. "She won't be back."

"Thanks…" said Bella, her voice slipping. James stepped closer to her, his eyes dark.

"Do I make you nervous, Kitten?" he asked, resting his hands on her shoulders. Bella fumbled in the pantry for a package of spaghetti, trying hard not to drop it.

"No."

James laughed.

"Well, that's one thing, then…"

He slipped away as quickly and suddenly as he had come in.

* * *

Bella sat at the dining table, her feet taping anxiously on the floor. Laurent's voice shouted out from the darkness under the stairs, and a loud _bang_ echoed up from the basement.

"Goddamn it!" she heard him shout. Her nerves, beyond frazzled, made her jump in surprise as she stirred her soup, which was still too hot to eat.

"Get it!" shouted James, angry and loud. "For god's sake, Laurent…"

Bella tried to tune them out.

For the past three days, this had been an almost constant state of affairs in the little townhouse. Each morning, she would wake and cook breakfast for whoever was around, and then she would set herself to little tasks here and there. She would take out the trash. She would wash dishes. She would sweep, make beds, dust… Anything to keep herself busy. Each afternoon, James would come sauntering in, looking as smug and satisfied as he always did, and he would take Laurent down to the basement for some mysterious, unknown business. There was often shouting, and once or twice, Bella thought she could hear crying.

Laurent always came up with red eyes and a grumpy expression, and James would not look her in the face.

The basement went silent, and Bella slurped her soup. It was still too hot and burned her tongue, but she forced it down anyway, not wanting to be anywhere near here when the two men came back upstairs. Trixie licked Bella's toes and Bella scooped her up carefully, putting her rinsed bowl in the sink once she had gulped down her lunch. She scrambled up the stairs just as James and Laurent emerged from the basement, sweat pouring and chests heaving. Bella lingered for just a moment at the top of the stairs, watching Laurent latch a thick padlock on the door.

The house was silent for a brief moment and Bella, not daring to move, tried to listen in.

"Get it under control," said James angrily, in a low, threatening tone. "I swear to God, if we have one more incident like that…"

"I know," said Laurent, grimacing. "This one's just hard, that's all."

Bella strained her ears to listen, stepping carefully to the side. Trixie sat comfortably in the crook of her arm.

"Manage it," said James again, pointing a menacing finger in Laurent's face. "I can't have anyone finding out, and with all the noise..."

Bella's foot shifted, making the floor creak. The sound echoed out through the otherwise quiet house and both men froze, Laurent wide-eyed and James stormy-faced. James' head snapped round and his eyes met hers, narrowing suspiciously.

Bella paled.

"Come here, Kitten," he said, and Laurent glanced up. He shook his head quietly and closed his eyes, stepping back to rest against the wall. From his expression, Bella knew she had done wrong.

Knowing she had no choice, she slowly descended the stairs.

"How much did you hear?" asked James, taking Trixie from her and tossing the dog at Laurent. Laurent caught her easily.

"Not much," said Bella, shrugging. She tugged at her lip with her teeth.

"What do you think we're doing in that basement, Kitten?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Bella.

"Guess." The word was loud and harsh.

Bella looked up, prepared to strike back, but the look of anger on his face made her backtrack. She remembered Laurent's advice, to not make him angry, and up until now she had taken great care to heed him.

"Are you…" Bella could not think of what to say. James stared, unblinking, and Bella squirmed.

James took her by the hand, pulling her back upstairs. Laurent moved quickly towards them, his face a mask of concern, and Bella felt her fear spike.

 _She needed to find a way out of here._

James pulled her into the little bedroom she had been graciously allowed, shoving her towards the bed. She stumbled but did not fall, fixing her gaze on the little window. The sky outside was a brilliant blue, and she watched as a lazy cloud drifted by. She could see a neighbour, though she knew he could not see her, as he mowed his lawn.

"I didn't know you were interested in my business, Kitten," said James, leaning back to close the door. He did not move, and Bella would not meet his eye. He was blocking the door.

"I'm not," said Bella quickly, shaking her head. "I…"

"You seemed awfully keen on listening in," he said idly, and Bella chanced a glance at him. He was staring at her with that icy coolness that betrayed the seeming kindness of his voice, and Bella felt a shiver run through her.

 _If only she could get past him, get outside without him knowing…_

But he always knew.

"I'm not," she said again, shaking her head. "I swear…"

James pulled her down on the little bed, forcing her to sit next to him. His thigh brushed against hers and Bella could not help but bristle, a red flush creeping up her neck. James laughed at her.

"Look at me," he said, and he forced her chin up. His voice was calm, but his face was all fire and spite.

"Next time I catch you eavesdropping on my private business," he said, "I'll take you downstairs and introduce you to what I've got going on down there. And once you see it, Kitten, you won't be able to forget it."

Bella, trying to control her shaking, swallowed hard.

"Don't ever think you can spy on me." James' voice turned hard, and his mouth turned into a snarl. "I like you, Kitten, but don't ever try and screw me over, you hear me?"

"Yes," said Bella, her body shaking. "Yes, I'm sorry."

"That's right," said James, letting her go. Bella flinched when he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Stay up here until I call you down," he said, standing. He stretched, cracking his back, before he turned to face her. All the ice and coldness had melted from his face so suddenly, and Bella recalled the kind-faced man who had been so helpful to her when she was still in her truck.

"Be a good girl, Kitten," said James, pausing in the doorway. "In the long run, it'll do you some good."

Bella said nothing, staring at him as her mind raced.

 _She had to leave. She had to leave. She had to leave…_

"I picked up some steaks from the store last night," he said, pausing before he closed the door. "We're going to have a right good feast tonight!"

The door clicked and Bella sat, stiff and confused, on the sagging bed.

 **A/N: What has our girl gotten herself into? Let me know what you think!**

 **Also, in case you haven't noticed the pattern, this story will be updated on Weekends (Friday-Sunday). I aim for two chapters per week.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: There is a warning in place for this chapter. Nothing hardcore, but it may be triggering to some.**

Chapter 6

Bella, true to her word, cooked a decent dinner for the occupants of the little townhouse that night. Kept company by Trixie, to whom she fed little tidbits here and there, it was not altogether unpleasant. The men had no complaints about her cooking and although she did not eat much, Bella found the food familiar and filling. She could not remember the last time she had enjoyed a meal she herself had prepared, as it had been some time since she had been able to afford real groceries.

It would be nice to put some weight back on, and maybe fill out her clothing a little more. The jeans she had been given were two sizes smaller than her normal pants, but Bella constantly found herself hiking them up. They were far too loose.

After dinner, James pulled Bella back into the sitting room and installed her next to Jane, who along with Felix, Demitri, and Alec, had stopped by for dinner.

Jane and the men all cracked open some beers when dinner was finished, and though Bella was offered one by a smiling James, she turned him down. Jane had laughed at her then, taking a long swig out of her bottle before she pulled Bella in closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Bella leaned in, deciding that Jane's closeness would be better than James', but she did not miss the sour look James gave the two of them.

"You doing okay, girl?" asked Jane in a low voice. Bella glanced up to see her face, but noticed that Jane was pointedly not looking at her.

"I guess," said Bella, shrugging. "I mean…"

"Did James tell you…?"

"No," said Bella, shaking her head. She anxiously turned to see if James was paying them any attention, but he was laughing heartily at Felix, who was telling a story.

"Some of your girls are just nasty…" Bella heard Demitri's voice ring out, and she glanced over. Demitri winked at her.

Bella stared, blushing.

"Ignore him," said Jane, loud enough for everyone else to hear. "He's just sour grapes, that's all."

"Ha!" laughed Demitri, without much amusement. "That's what you think, Jane, but we both know that when you and I were young, we had a great old time."

Jane raised an eyebrow, sipping her beer. Bella did not know what was going on, so she looked down to the rug.

Trixie wagged her tail from her place by Laurent's feet but did move any closer.

"You'd like to think that we _both_ had a good time," said Jane, putting her beer back on the table. "But I can tell you, _boy,_ that you're not nearly as, uh… _refined_ as you'd like to think."

Bella, understanding enough of the joke, felt heat creeping into her face as she shifted away from Jane. Jane let her go with another peal of laughter, running a finger under her eyes to wipe away the mascara that was beginning to run.

"But you, now," said Demitri, turning to face Bella directly. "You'll fetch a good deal, I don't doubt."

"What?"

The group laughed at her.

"You'll find out soon enough," said Demitri, winking again. "James here has some big plans for you."

"I won't be here long," said Bella, her voice trembling. She did not know exactly what was going on but she knew she did not like it, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"Sit and drink this," said James suddenly, reaching over to hand her an open beer bottle. She took it, not wanting to upset him, but did not drink. All eyes in the room, except Jane who looked troubled, watched her expectantly. James glared at her, looking pointedly down at the bottle, and her face went red again.

"Drink it," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I mean it, Kitten. It'll do you good."

Bella, unable to resist the covert threat in his voice, brought the bottle up to her lips, taking a sip of the warm, sour liquid. She had tasted beer before—her father had never stopped her from imbibing once she came of age—but this tasted nothing like what she remembered. Her father's beer had always been distinctive, but it had never had this kind of bitterness to it... James and the men laughed as Bella took a big gulp, hoping they would stop staring. James bit his lip in an effort to conceal his amusement as her face scrunched up. The taste really was awful.

"As I was saying," said James, turning once more to face the group. "I went out to the shop last night, and..."

Bella turned the bottle round and round in her hands. The glass was warm, like she felt, and she wished it could offer her some coolness. She was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot, squished in between two sweating bodies, and she shifted closer to the edge of the couch, rubbing her forehead. Jane watched her covertly out of the corner of her eye, though Bella paid her no mind. Another drink of the warm beer made her grimace and cough, as whatever was making the drink so bitter seemed to have settled near the bottom of the bottle. Bella could taste something gritty, though something in her mind was telling her it was of no consequence...

She drank until only a few murky sips remained.

As she took another drink, wondering if this one would wash the taste out of her mouth, her head began to feel fuzzy. She sat the bottle down on the table in front of her, leaning back against the sofa.

She suddenly felt very tired.

"What do you think, boys?" asked James suddenly, halting conversation and making both Bella and Jane look up. James' face looked wobbly and unfocused, and Bella felt anxiety rising up in her. She could not be drunk, as she was not one to feel tipsy after only one bottle of beer, but she felt dizzy and sick and anxious all at once

She had to get out of here, but her feet were hard to move.

"Dead cert," said Alec, responding to James as he looked briefly over at Bella. "I mean, comparatively…"

"Janie girl got me a good deal when she first came," said James, and Bella felt her stomach clench as he reached for her nearly empty bottle. Jane, with quick reflexes, grabbed Bella's hand to stop her, giving her a tight smile as James laughed. James pried Jane's fingers away from Bella and handed her the bottle, letting her take another drink.

She was so thirsty.

Bella had no idea what was going on, but one look from Laurent told her to remain still and quiet in her seat. When James let go of Jane's hand, he reached over and took Bella's free one, grinning.

"Drink up," he said, pushing the bottle closer to her face. She drank the last of it, fighting the urge to gag. James turned to look at the four other men in the room.

"Take a good look at our Kitten," he said, and Bella was appalled to feel his hand on her chin, forcing her to look up. She slopped beer down her front. "Ain't she a beauty." His hot hand on her face made her bristle, even in her hazy confusion. Bella, emboldened by the beer, jerked her head away and slapped his hand.

Laurent's eyes flashed in warning before James stopped dead, looking down at her with a raised hand. The ice was back in his eyes but Bella looked resolutely back, refusing to cower away. _Liquid courage,_ she thought. _What an apt name._

After a long, tense moment, James laughed.

"Reel it back, Kitten," he said, and when he leaned in Bella was too startled to move. His face was inches from hers now, and when he was this close she could not make her eyes focus. His face doubled in front of her, two blue eyes turning into four, and his hot breath washed over her face…

When he kissed her, it was with a strange gentleness that she did not expect from him. Too startled and angry to respond Bella sat, still and stony until his sucking lips and prying tongue, finding no purchase on her, pulled back with a grin. She took a deep, rasping breath when he pulled back, laughing at the stricken look on her face as she brought a hand up to her mouth.

"That's right," he said, tapping the end of her nose in what Bella could only describe as a patronizing way. "You know you love it."

Anger reared up like an beast inside her and she stood abruptly, stumbling over the edge of the rug underneath her.

She would _not_ stay here.

James, laughing despite her obvious humiliation, stood up and pulled her into an embrace.

"Get off of me," snapped Bella, pushing him hard as she stepped back from the sofa. She felt Jane's hand at her back, pulling her gently by the shirt, but she tugged herself free. "Don't ever come near me again."

James laughed at her, though Bella was sure she caught a glint of the hard anger that seemed to linger so close to the surface. In a burst of speed that surprised even Bella, she was off into the kitchen before James realized where she had gone. Finding the door unlocked, she threw it open and stepped out, barefoot, onto the cool patio stones.

"Get back here!" shouted James from inside the house, pushing a dining chair out of his way to rush after her. Bella scarpered down the front lane, walking towards the street she had found so interesting all those days ago, before James clamped a hand on her arm. Bella struggled viciously against his grip, but when his arm tightened to the point of pain she desisted.

"Oh relax," he said, wheeling her around to face him. "It was one kiss. I won't do it again."

Bella struggled, determined to break free and James tugged her closer, a scowl marring his handsome face. Bella could not focus on him and she blinked hard against the budding stupor that was closing in on her, but she would not stop wiggling. James cursed, using his strength to pull her back towards the front door.

"Where are you gonna go, huh?" he asked, his voice loud in the quiet twilight. "Get real, Kitten. This is the only place you've got."

Bella stopped for a moment, breathing hard. He was not wrong. Her eyes burned and in her intoxicated state, she could not keep them back.

The world was spinning.

"You don't even have your own clothes," he laughed. "Come back inside. I promise no more funny business."

How she had ever trusted him she would never know. She glared up at him, and he seemed to read the accusation on her face. _Liar._

"I swear it," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just a little baked right now, and you are so pretty…"

Bella flushed.

"Get inside. I'm sure Jane will go upstairs with you if you want her to. I promise, no more funny business tonight. I'll leave you alone."

At that precise moment, though she would like nothing more than to flee, an encroaching blackness crept into her line of sight and her knees buckled, forcing James to hold her up. Breathing hard, she felt him half-lead, half-drag her back into the house, slamming the front door behind them. Bella could just make out the sight of her boxes in the kitchen, sitting exactly where she had left them, before light and colour returned to her, and she blinked hard.

"Jane!" called James, releasing Bella's arm as she stumbled forward to get away. "Jane, get in here!" Bella fell against the counter.

Jane appeared, hip cocked and brows raised.

"What?" she asked. Her voice was crisp and sharp, but at the sight of Bella, her face fell.

"You came back."

Bella said nothing.

"She's got nowhere else to go, Janie," said James in a growl. "Just like you, and just like Dora." Bella racked her brain, trying to remember who Dora was. Bella did not think she had ever met her…

"You're an asshole," said Jane angrily, stepping forward to take Bella into her arms. Bella froze, her body stiffening at the insult, wondering whether or not James would strike her again. Would he strike Bella, too, for trying to escape? Would he send Jane down to whatever hell he was concocting in the basement? Would _Bella_ , in all her fear, be sent down there?

James, however, simply chuckled, shaking his head before he removed himself from the kitchen and went to sit down in his place on the sofa. Bella stared at him, swaying and unblinking, but he did not look back at her. Bella glanced back at the front door longingly but Jane tugged her hand.

"Come on upstairs," she said darkly. "Before he…"

"What?" asked Bella, letting her tears fall free now that James was gone. "What is his problem?"

Her voice sounded slurred.

"He's got no problems," said Jane, scoffing. "Wait until we get upstairs. I'll explain things there."

Bella reached the bedroom, finding the little dog, Trixie, waiting outside with a wagging tail. Bella let both dog and stranger inside before she closed the door and clicked the lock, turning to face Jane.

Bella could not think of anything to say, but Jane, not needing any prompting, helped her lay down in bed. She covered Bella with the little cotton blanket, sitting carefully on the end of the bed. Bella let her eyes fall closed, suppressing her budding nausea and vertigo.

"Where did you come from, kid?" asked Jane suddenly, breaking the silence. "I've been here for seven years, and I haven't ever seen you around."

"Washington," said Bella, speaking in a whisper. "Why?"

"Because," said Jane, shaking her head. "Where is your family?"

Bella shrugged.

"Mom or dad?" she asked, raising a brow. "Siblings?"

"Gone," said Bella, bristling at her lie. It was not entirely true… She wondered what Emmett was doing tonight. Where was he, while she, Bella, sat drunk and alone in a stranger's bedroom…

"That's what he wants," said Jane, recalling her to the present. "That's what he looks for."

"What?" asked Bella, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"He wants pretty girls," said Jane, sounding exasperated. "Do you know who I am?" she asked. Bella shook her head.

"Do you know what I do?"

"No!" said Bella, her voice cracking. "I have to get out of here…"

"Good luck," snorted Jane, leaning back against Bella's legs. She lit a cigarette, taking the ashtray Bella had not noticed from the bedside table.

"What does he want with me?" asked Bella, sitting up. Trixie licked her toes.

"Doesn't matter," said Jane gruffly, the irritation and anger dying from her face. "Just do as you're told, and you'll be fine."

Bella stared at her.

"He won't hurt you unless you give him a reason to," she said gently, tucking the blanket in around Bella's cold feet. Bella fought the urge to laugh at this strange kindness, knowing that there couldn't even be ten years between the two of them. Jane was reminding Bella very heavily of Renee, before she had left…

"He'll feed you, and clothe you," said Jane gently, leaning over to stroke the dog now that Bella was sufficiently tucked in. Trixie reacted with relish, resting her chin on Jane's outstretched hand.

"I need a job," said Bella slowly, trying to blink the darkness away. "Once I find one, I'll be fine."

Jane looked at her with a strange sadness in her eyes for many long moments. Bella, too hazy to care, stared blankly back, blinking stupidly.

"Scoot," she said, nudging Bella aside. The bed was just big enough for the two of them and although she did not really know this woman, Bella was glad for the comforting warmth beside her. Trixie snuggled in at their feet and Bella let her head rest on Jane's arm. She was so warm…

"James will take good care of you," said Jane quietly, speaking into the darkness. There were no stars tonight, and the room had grown dark. "Don't worry about money."

"I can't stay here forever," said Bella, turning to face her bedmate. "I've gotta…"

The words died on her tongue as Bella, frowning, fought to remember what her task was. She had left Washington, as she'd intended, but had succeeded in doing nothing but finding herself some shady accommodations, for who knows how long, in a strange man's townhouse.

"Gotta what?" asked Jane, frowning in the dark. Trixie snuggled further up under the blankets.

"I don't know," said Bella finally. Thinking back on all that had happened over the past year, Bella found herself longing quite strongly for the life she had left behind in Washington. This strange house with its strange people, and even kind, run-down Jane made her long more than ever for the comforts of home—for the safety and security she had known under her father's roof. Sure, Charlie had been a taskmaster, even _unkind_ at times, but he had never scared her or provoked such anxiety. She had been so eager to get away from it all, to escape her surly father and her repetitive, highly-regimented routine that she hadn't paused to think, hadn't stopped to realize how lucky she had been. She thought of his face, the thick moustache and the eyes that had crinkled when he laughed. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that the warmth beside her belonged to her father's strong, unbreakable body—she could remember his hugs, so rare, but so comforting whenever she had felt afraid or lonesome…

She missed her father now more than she ever had at home, and without consent or warning, her sobs broke through.

"Oh Kitten," said Jane, sighing as she hugged her close.

"Don't call me that," begged Bella, resting her head on Jane's bony shoulder. "Please don't…"

"Well, what should I call you, then?" asked Jane gently, brushing the hair out of Bella's eyes. The dog grew agitated at the sound of her tears and came to lick her face. Bella, all inhibitions thrown to the wayside, responded with the honest earnestness that had been packed away with the rest of her old life.

"Bella."

"Bella," said Jane, testing the name for the first time. "It suits you."

Bella did not respond, sniffling noisily as she tried to control herself.

"I'm sorry," she said taking the end of the blanket to dry Jane's shoulder. "I didn't mean to…"

"Don't worry about it," said Jane, urging her down onto the pillow once more. "Just stay here with me and Trixie for now, and everything will be okay."

"No it won't," whispered Bella, shaking her head. "Nothing will ever be okay."

"Don't count your chickens until they've hatched," rebuked Jane. Bella said nothing, but used the blanket to staunch the flow of tears that would not stop. Jane said nothing for a long moment, speaking only once Bella had quieted down.

"Do you really have no family?" she asked.

"Not really," said Bella, knowing very well she could not tell the truth. "My mom's never been around, and my dad…"

"Was he a beater?" asked Jane wisely, her mouth twisted into a grimace.

"No!" said Bella, louder than she had intended. "No. Nothing like that."

"What is it like, then?" she asked.

"He…" began Bella, but the words stuck in her throat. "He died."

It had been the first time she had spoken those words out loud and they hung heavy in the air. She had never expected to say them to a stranger before she had said them to _him…_

"I'm sorry," said Jane. "How long?"

"Six months," Bella hiccupped, turning her face into the pillow. "He got sick. He was a cop."

"A cop," mused Jane, laughing. "That's rich."

"Why?" Bella's voice was defensive.

"Never mind," said Jane again, smoothing Bella's hair. "You just focus on your goals."

"What goals?" snorted Bella. "My goal was to get out of Washington, and I did that. Now, I'm looking for a job, but you just said…." _Not that I'll stop trying,_ thought Bella mutinously.

Jane said nothing.

"You'll do alright, Bella," said Jane, testing the name. "They'll love you, and James won't let them hurt you…"

"What?" Bella's tongue was growing thick, and her eyes felt heavy and sore.

"Nothing," said Jane, stroking Bella's hair. It felt nice, and Bella could not fight against sleep. "Forget it."

"But…"

"You'll learn soon," Bella heard Jane say, just as she began to succumb to the darkness flooding her line of vision. "Don't worry about it, Bella. Everything will be clear soon enough."

Even through the exhaustion, Bella could not ignore the niggling pang of fear at Jane's words. Unable to resist the draw of sleep, however, Bella closed her eyes completely and let the blackness take her away.

 **A/N: Hello again! Let me know what you guys think. There haven't been many reviews, so I'm curious to know how everyone likes the story so far. There are two options you guys can pick from: 1) I continue with Invictus and then begin editing on other stories once this one is finished, or 2) I hold off on this one for a little while and work on re-posting some of the older stuff that needs correcting (I have Love Me Tender and Little Nurse in the works, and I plan on fixing up the Diamond in the Rough Series as well as Fade to Grey).**

 **Let me know which you would prefer!**

 **Also: Be on the lookout in the coming weeks (maybe next week, depending on how my new chapters pan out) for a change of pace: We'll be hearing from Emmett in the near future!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: There is another warning in place for this chapter. No sexual violence, but it might bother some of you!**

Chapter 7

When Bella awoke the next morning it was with gritty eyes, sour breath, and a pounding, angry headache. She lay in the bed next to a sleeping Jane, wracking her brain to remember what had happened the night before.

She had made dinner. She had a beer. She had…

What, exactly?

Jane, waking when Bella tried to sit up, rushed to grab the trash can from the corner of the room before Bella could be sick on the floor.

That day, she did not get out of bed.

* * *

When she began to feel better, Bella used all the time she could to plot her escape. She spent an uneventful week in the little townhouse, imposing on Laurent's seemingly endless hospitality. Each morning, Bella woke and went downstairs to find some kind of breakfast on the table. Sometimes it was only cereal and milk, but other times it was a veritable feast of pancakes, eggs, waffles, muffins, and the like. Laurent was a constant presence in the little house—he was always puttering around, tending to his kitchen or coddling his little dog. He never asked anything of her—not money, not time, not even a chore here or there, though Bella was sure to help out whenever she could. True to his word, James left her alone. In fact, she had barely seen him since that first day, and when he did pop in, it was only for a brief checkup.

" _See if you can't find something to amuse yourself,"_ he would say. _"Laurent's got some magazines sitting around here."_

Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly generous, James would come home with an old copy of _People_ magazine for Bella to read. Bella had stockpiled them, five in total, in the little bedroom—she was reluctant to call it _hers_ , even if she had taken it over. She read them over when the nights set in and Laurent entertained guests. Bella had learned, through observation, that the only time Laurent left her alone is when he had other people in the house to tend to.

Since that first night, Bella had not gone downstairs when the other men, Felix, Demitri, and Alec, were around. Bella knew that some of them lived in the house as well, but they were so often gone that she barely noticed them. Whenever they came in, reeking of marijuana, Bella locked her door and settled in with a magazine, shifting uncomfortably when James would come up and slide one through the gap under the door.

Trixie, it transpired, did not like Laurent's friends either, and took to quarantining herself with Bella in the quiet little room. Bella enjoyed the company.

This night, exactly one week since the beer incident, Bella was sitting on the floor, curled up under a blanket with a new magazine. A sickening jolt had sent butterflies soaring through her at the sight of the familiar face on the front cover, and she could not help but scowl at the little blonde lady attached to his arm. Bella had quickly flipped the cover open, banishing the sight of him, focusing instead on the table of contents. She refused to turn to page 24, though his name was clearly printed there…

Trying not to let her feelings get the better of her Bella rubbed her eyes, as if the heels of her hands could wipe away the feelings that came every time she saw his picture. Bella knew, deep down, that there was no way Emmett could know what was going on. She saw him there, smiling and laughing, flashing a toothy grin for the cameras. She read the bold headlines, announcing his newest movie or the highly-anticipated sequel he was about to start on. A few days ago, Bella had flipped open a copy from last October and had seen the date splashed across a joyous beach photo.

 _Emmett Swan Filming in Spain!_ The caption had made her sick to her stomach and she had burned with anger and betrayal as she stared down at it. Her common sense told her that he did not know, that he _could_ not know, but to see him there, smiling up at her from his fancy beach vacation while she had sat, horror-struck, as her father had seized in his hospital bed…

She had been unable to read after that, laying in her hard little bed with Trixie's pink tongue darting out to lick her cheeks. She could not help herself that night, though she felt embarrassed afterwards—she had cried herself to sleep and had torn that particular magazine in half the following morning.

Bella shook her head, dispelling those memories, and turned again to her current reading. Just as she had decided on a _Fab or Drab_ segment covering all the dresses worn to the latest awards show, Bella was jolted by a knock at her door.

"Yes?" she asked, refusing to move until she was certain who was behind it.

"It's me," said James, his voice muffled. "Open up, Kitten."

Bella had still not told him her name.

"Come here," he said eagerly, his face alight as she unlocked the door, peeking out. "Come down for just a minute."

"James…" she said, her voice trembling as she heard the noise and fuss from the lower level. She knew he had visitors, and she did not want to get caught in another situation like she had last week. She was almost positive he had slipped something into her drink. She could only count her blessings that she'd had enough wherewithal to try and run, and that Jane had so kindly stayed upstairs with her to stop anyone taking advantage.

"Oh, come on," he said, taking her by the hand. He intertwined his fingers with hers. "There's someone you need to meet."

"Oh?"

"Yes," said James, looking gleeful. "Let me know what you think of him."

"James, I really don't want to…" Her protests fell on deaf ears.

"Come on," he said again, pulling her along.

"Who is he?" asked Bella, glancing longingly at the bedroom. Trixie was on the bed, ears raised and head cocked to the side, but she did not follow. Bella didn't blame her.

"A very important man," said James pompously. "He's come a long way to meet you."

"Me?" asked Bella, startled. "How…?"

"Never mind that just now," he said, ushering her into the kitchen. Bella was surprised when he began rearranging her hair, making sure it was all tucked in. He ran a careful hand over her head, almost as if he was _grooming_ her, and Bella grew annoyed.

"What are you _doing?"_ she hissed, stepping away as he tried to rub at a spot on her cheek as if she was an errant child. "For god's _sake_ James…"

"You need to look presentable," he said, ignoring her irritation. He licked his thumb and rubbed at her cheek, making her squirm.

"Why?" she demanded. "Who is this person? Let me go back upstairs."

"I will," said James, smiling tersely, "as soon as you say hello. Don't you dare be rude."

"Why would I…" her voice died away as James, shooting her a pointed look, took her hand and began leading her towards the living room.

Bella entered, glancing carefully around at the men. She noticed that there was no marijuana tonight—a first by her reckoning—and that each man sat prim and proper in his seat. Jane was absent, as she had been for a few days now.

"Kitten," began James, gesturing to the one strange man sitting in an armchair. Bella started at the sight of him, as he looked entirely out of place. The other men were relatively young, rather unkempt, and terribly crass, but this man looked like had stepped straight off the pages of a classic novel. True, he was older than most romantic heroes, but his dark hair was brushed back in a slick, gelled style, his suit was impeccable, and Bella saw no trace of youthful innocence on the lines of his face. He seemed to be made of nothing but angles—not even his bowtie was crooked, and from her experience with her father's dress clothes, she knew this was a feat. As she studied his face, she came to the conclusion that this man was old enough to be her father- old enough, maybe, to be _Emmett's…_

"Hello," he said, his voice a deep baritone. "It is so lovely to meet you. James here has told me all about you."

"Hi," said Bella, embarrassed by the squeak in her voice.

"She is lovely," said the man, turning away from her to speak to James instead. Bella caught Laurent's eye from across the living room and he shook his head ominously. Bella stared intently at him but he would not meet her gaze again. For all the good it did her she might as well be staring at a brick wall.

This man commanded the room, and Bella was a little humbled to see even James' sugary respect.

"Yes sir," said James, nodding as he tugged Bella closer. She stood off to the side, eyes glued to the floor as she tried to sort out just what was going on. She hadn't seen James in nearly a week, and now, who was this striking stranger?

"Has she been tested?" asked the man, his eyes lingering on Bella. She felt her face growing hot as she glanced up, catching his eye. He simply cocked an eyebrow at her, as if in challenge, and she couldn't help but look away.

 _This man is dangerous,_ trilled the anxious voice in her head. _Danger, danger, danger…_

"Not yet," said James, "but I'm on it."

"Is she pure?" Bella's head snapped up again at this word, her face white, though no one paid her any attention.

"I think so," said James. "I'll have the doctor check."

"The doctor?" Bella blurted out, and she heard Laurent's groan. "What are you talking about?"

"Be quiet," snapped James, glaring at her with squinted eyes. "Shut your mouth."

"Now, now, James," said the stranger, leaning back to assess Bella from his place. "Let her speak. What do you want to know, child?"

Bella stared at the strange man, knees weak and heart pounding.

"I…"

"Yes?" he prompted. His voice was not raised nor was his face marred by a frown, but something in that lone word made Bella fall silent. The man laughed bitterly.

"As usual. Nothing worthwhile to say," he sniffed, looking scornfully back to James. Bella's face was flaming. "I'll give you ten. Fifteen if you can get me papers."

"Yes sir," said James, sounding excited once more. "Absolutely. Tomorrow, for sure…"

"James…" Bella could not help but interrupt.

"Shut up," he ground out, squeezing her arm in a tight warning grip. Bella felt her eyes spark with tears. Would he strike her now, as he had struck Jane last week?

"I will expect," said the man, raising his voice and James dropped her arm like a hot coal, "that she will not be marked."

"No sir," said James, running a reluctant hand over Bella's smarting arm. "Not one blemish."

"Excellent," he said. "Five now, then?"

James looked gleeful.

"Go back upstairs, Kitten," he said dismissively, pushing her towards the staircase. "I'll see you in the morning."

"What…?"

" _Now,"_ hissed James angrily. "Go, Kitten."

"No," she said, crossing her arms. The strange, commanding man raised an eyebrow, looking disapprovingly down on her.

"I will not tolerate cheek, girl," he said, and Bella looked up with fearful confidence.

"You don't own me." Bella heard Laurent gasp, though she did not look at him, and James glared down at her with a face as white as milk. He grabbed her arm again.

"Shut your mouth!" He looked anxiously at the stranger who chuckled, shaking his head.

"Such insolence will not be tolerated," he warned. "You didn't mention she was mouthy."

"Get upstairs now," snarled James, his voice low and menacing. He shoved her roughly away from him, making her stumble. Taking her cue, Bella scampered into the kitchen and up the stairs, tripping half way up. She heard James call out to her, his voice dark and menacing, but she did not stop to listen.

Trixie was still waiting on the bed for her, and she wiggled her tail happily when Bella fell into it, shaking.

Bella was not familiar with the ins and outs of crime, but she was fairly certain what had just transpired downstairs. She knew she had been stupid to follow James home—she had known that the minute she had stepped inside—but she could not think of what to do now. Bella was naïve, but she was not stupid—James has just sold her to that stranger downstairs, and Bella had a fairly good idea what she was wanted for. The very thought made her sick.

Trixie licked her face.

"What do I do?" she asked anxiously, glancing down at the little dog. "I don't know what to do."

Trixie yipped.

"You can't come, baby," she said, snuggling her face in the soft fur. "I have nowhere to go, and I can't take you away…" Bella felt an absurd rush of sadness at the idea of leaving the dog, and she let her tears fall. Trixie, ever the saviour, rushed forth to shower her with wet kisses; she always disliked it when Bella was sad. Bella took the little dog in her arms, squeezing her tight, as she knew she would not have much more time to spend with her.

"I've gotta go, baby," she said again, her voice shaking. "I can't stay here." Bella had never spoken a truer phrase in her life, and although she had no idea how she would manage it without being seen, she was absolutely positive that she would find some way to make it happen. She had already lingered here too long… she should never have come.

Trixie snuffled and licked her face, as she always liked to do, both girl and dog listening carefully to the sounds of soft voices from the lower level. Bella could hear the stranger talking, and James' loud, excited voice saying "Yes sir!" after each rumbling sentence. Bella bit hard on the inside of her cheek, trying not to lose control, but she could barely keep her fear in check when the door downstairs slammed shut, and she heard booming footsteps running up the stairs. She held her breath, cringing when the loud knocks rattled the door in its frame.

"Open this door!" shouted James, his voice irate. "I swear to god, open it!"

Bella sat quietly on the bed, trying to staunch her tears. What would he do to her now? Oh, how stupid she was to have ever come here…

"Open the door!" His voice was growing more unsteady, and Bella heard Laurent in the background.

"Take it easy, James. You heard Aro. He doesn't want her marked…" James responded by kicking the door so hard that his boot flew through it and Trixie yelped, scrabbling out of Bella's arms to escape to her sanctuary under the bed.

"James!" Bella shouted, her fear overtaking her. James responded with another violent kick and the door flew open, broken.

"If you _ever,"_ snarled James, advancing on her, "embarrass me like that again, you won't know what hit you!" He clamped both of his hands around her arms, hauling her up, and shook her hard. Her teeth rattled.

She could only cry.

"How _dare_ you!?" he roared, throwing her back. Bella caught sight of Laurent on the other side of the door, shaking his head in a sad, knowing way.

"James, please…"

"Shut up!" he roared, and with a force that she had never felt before, his hand flew out and struck her, hard, across the face. She fell to the side, her ears ringing. Bella was lucky the bed was soft or she would have hit her head against the hardwood floor. As it was, she lay stunned on the mattress, unable to sit herself back up.

"Shit," said James, pulling her up to face him. "Goddamn it. Laurent! Ice!" he barked. Bella's hearing cleared and her fear morphed into terrified anger. His angry face swam before her as she blinked, trying to clear her tears, and when his icy gaze met hers, she began to scream.

"Get off of me!" Her voice was shrill and loud. "Get away!"

James released her, breathing hard, and Bella fell back on the bed, shock and pain coursing through her. He had hit her. He had actually _hit_ her…

She had to get out of here.

"Relax," said James, trying to sit on the bed next to her. Bella, in a fit of fright and rage, struck out at him with her feet, catching him in the groin. He growled and leapt away, balling his hand into a fist.

"Let me tell you, little girl," he growled, "that if you hit Aro like that, he'll knock every one of your teeth out." James reached out once more and Bella felt the sting of his hand again... she could see his snarling face, advancing closer and closer…

"Get out!" Bella shrieked, beyond reason. When he reached out to grab her, she began to flail every bit of herself she could move. James shouted expletives at her, and she could hear little Trixie whining under the bed as she railed against him with pounding fists and scrabbling feet.

"You will _obey_ ," said James angrily, reaching down to haul her up again. Bella struggled against him—kicking, biting, scratching and screaming—but he would not put her down. Grabbing a fist full of hair, he dragged her face up to his.

"You will obey," he said again, and Bella felt a sharp pain at her side.

"James!" barked Laurent, and Bella felt his hands release her. She clamped her own hand to her smarting side as she slid to the floor, and when she pulled it away she could see a smear of blood. Laurent's rough grip on his arm forced James to release the knife he had been holding to her and Bella scampered back. James looked livid—he was glaring down at her with an almost inhuman anger, teeth bared and nostrils flared.

"You kill her and Aro will demand double what he just gave you," growled Laurent, pushing James against the wall. He tossed an ice pack on the bed, but would not look at her. "You'd better hope that doesn't scar."

James said nothing, breathing heavily as Bella, sprawled haphazardly on the bedroom floor, could only cry, holding her hand to the shallow cut.

 _She had to get out of here._

"Here," said Laurent, pushing past James to take up the ice pack he'd tossed. When he brought it to her face Bella lashed out again, slapping it out of his hands. Her face stung and her side ached as she moved, but she would not let these people anywhere near her.

"Damn it, girl…" said Laurent, sounding for once as if he was going to lose his patience.

"Get out!" cried Bella, though this time her voice was weaker. "Go away…"

"Suit yourself," he said, and although he left the ice with her, he reached under the bed to scoop up a trembling Trixie. Bella, resisting the urge to protest, glanced over as James took another step inside the room, reaching down as if to help her up. Bella's mind went into overdrive.

"Don't touch me!" Her voice quavered but her hand was steady as she screamed, clawing his arm with her fingernails hard enough to draw blood. James snarled at her, jumping back, but Laurent's restraining hand prevented him from retaliating. The two men retreated, Laurent looking resigned and James still fuming. As they left, Bella slammed what was left of the bedroom behind them, knowing very well that the door wouldn't keep anyone out now.

There was the sound of footsteps descending the stairs before a brief moment of quiet, then the voices crested again, laughing and joking as if nothing had happened.

Though the night grew later, the noise from downstairs did not die down. Bella could hear the murmured conversation, the dull, empty laughter, and the sounds of a television tuned in to a sports game. Curled up on the floor—she refused to go near the bed—Bella listened hard, half terrified that James would return to assault her again.

"I have to go," she said, her voice breaking though no one could hear her. "Please, let me go…" She could barely breathe for crying. The back of her head, resting on the wall, throbbed with each beat of her heart, the memory of James' angry grip lingering long after he had released her. Her cheek stung and she could feel it growing hot—she knew her eye was swollen and puffy. Her side had finally stopped bleeding, but not before leaving a rather large stain on the white tank top…

Some time later—she was never sure exactly how long she had sat on the floor—Bella heard footsteps coming back up the stairs. Unable to contain it, she let out a pitiful cry of fear, curling herself up as small as she could get. If James would hit her again, he would not get her face…

"Girl? Kitten?" It was Laurent. "I'm coming in."

Bella could not move as the door was opened.

"Oh Jesus," he said, sighing as he knelt down before her. "Let me see."

Bella let him pry her hands off of her face but would not let him touch it.

"Get off," she snapped as he reached his hand to touch the swelling. "Get away from me."

"I'm sorry he hit you," said Laurent gently. "Truly, I am…"

"Get out," whimpered Bella sadly, and Laurent drew himself up.

"You'll feel better in the morning," he said, sounding sure. "Why don't you take my bedroom for the night? It's got a full door and a lock, so no one will bother you…"

Bella stared up, disbelieving.

"Go ahead. Trixie's in there."

Bella, drawing herself painfully to her full height, walked desolately towards the other end of the hallway, rushing past Laurent as quickly as she could. Laurent's bedroom looked out on the front of the house, and Bella took careful stock of it before she slipped inside. Trixie greeted her enthusiastically, licking her feet.

"Have a good sleep, kid," said Laurent softly, lingering in the doorway. He did not step in after her, respecting her space.

"Please go," said Bella, tears welling up again. "Please…"

"Alright, alright," he said, lifting his hands in surrender. "Chill out. I'm gone, okay? Here's your ice pack, in case you want it…"

He left the ice on the dresser.

"Have a good sleep. I won't bother you in the morning, and James is going to come by around 2 for your appointment. He's gone out to Chinatown to find Jane…"

Bella cried again.

"Sleep well."

"Get out."

Laurent shut the door behind him.

Bella stood in the silence of the bedroom until she heard the telltale sounds of cars departing. She watched through the gauzy curtains as first Alec, then Felix, then Demitri took their leave, each driving off in a different direction.

Before long, Bella heard Laurent retreating to the other end of the hallway, taking up residence in the bedroom she had left.

When she heard him begin to snore, Bella quickly unlocked the door and crept, as carefully as she could, down the stairs. She took care not to step on the squeakiest parts of the steps, which she had learned over the course of her stay here, and made it carefully to the end of the staircase. She listened hard for the sound of Laurent's continuing snores, thanking whatever God could hear her when the rumbling filtered down.

Bella was not expecting, however, to hear the jingle of Trixie's collar as she bounded down the stairs as well. She looked at Bella, excited and pleased as Bella rummaged inside her boxes, pulling out one of Charlie's old shirts.

"No, baby," she said, her eyes welling up. She tried to keep quiet. "Sit."

The dog obeyed.

"Stay," said Bella, reaching into the box once more and procuring the little black book. The dog sat, tail wagging, as Bella snatched a backpack from the hook by the door, stuffing it with supplies. The book, the shirt, some underwear from the dryer…

The little dog never moved and Bella, feeling her heart breaking at the sad little whimper Trixie let out, opened the front door.

Laurent's snores echoed down, undisturbed. Trixie stared avidly at her, her big eyes looking up intently. Bella knew it was irrational, she knew she was being silly, but that dog had claimed a big part of her heart during her stay here, and it hurt to leave her behind. Maybe, if Bella had a home to go to, someplace reliable and steady, she might be able to take Trixie with her, but she did not. The dog had a decent home here—Laurent was very fond of her—and Bella, no matter how much she loved the animal, would not bring her out onto the streets.

"Stay," she said again, ignoring the little whine as she opened the front door. The night air was crisp, as she suspected it would be, but she slipped her father's old flannel over top of the bloodstained shirt she had on. Trixie rushed forward, prepared to follow, but Bella rebuked her sharply and the dog sat again.

"Stay," she said, her voice breaking. "Good girl. Stay."

Trixie's tail wagged furiously as Bella reached over, but she could not bring herself to pet the dog. Instead, she stepped through the doorway and pulled it closed behind her, shutting Trixie inside.

She could not stop her tears as she set off at a quick pace, walking away from the townhouse. She didn't care where she ended up, so long as it wasn't here.

For the first mile, Bella was hampered by her stream of tears—she could not help thinking about Trixie, about the boxes she had been forced to leave behind, and about the pain in her face and side. Bella did not know in which direction she walked—she tried to turn as little as she could, wanting to put as much distance between her and the house as possible. The first mile did not take her long at all, and once she found herself passing places she recognized from her stay in her truck, she began to speed up. How long would it take for someone at the house to realize she was gone? How long did she have before Laurent woke for his morning coffee and checked on her, as he always did when James was out of the house, or until James himself returned from his visit to Chinatown? She knew James had been given money from the stranger, Aro, and she knew that if she was not procured by tomorrow, as promised, James would lose out…

Bella began to run.

She ran long and hard—as long and hard as her body would permit—until she found herself in the familiar apartment block she had fled the week before. Panting and heaving, she stopped under a light, taking stock of the abandoned streets and tall, looming buildings.

Bella saw the parking space where her truck had been, dismay coursing through her at the sight of the unoccupied space.

A small part of Bella, hopeful to the very end, had been in denial, believing that her beloved truck full of boxes would still be waiting for her. Bella knew, in her rational mind, that it had spent too much time unoccupied, that the old fire escape lady who had phoned the police would have had it removed, but that did not stop her disappointment.

As the first weak rays of sunlight began to crest over the distant horizon, catching on plumes of foggy morning mist in the grey concrete jungle, Bella knew that she could not linger. If James was looking for her, this would be the first place he'd check.

Running as fast as she could, Bella tore off through the parking lot and down a new street, determined to put as much distance between herself and the little townhouse as possible.

 **A/N: You have spoken. I only received a few messages asking for me to discontinue this and work on other projects, so Invictus wins out!**

 **I have also been asked quite a few times whether or not this story will include Edward. Without giving away too much, I can assure everyone that there will be no other pairing (Bella will not be with anyone else), but there is not a huge focus on romance in this story. Edward will show up eventually but this story is not going to focus on their relationship. This is primarily a family story.**

 **I love hearing what you all think! Let me know with a review! Are you excited to hear from Emmett next chapter?**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here is your second weekend chapter. I hope you enjoy hearing from Emmett!**

Chapter 8

Emmett Swan sat uncomfortably in the plush chair in Marcus' office, his knee bouncing as he waited. Marcus had called him late yesterday afternoon, flustered, and had demanded that Emmett come in as soon as possible.

" _Emmett,"_ Marcus had said. _"Where are you?"_

" _On set. You know that," said Emmett, annoyed. Marcus knew his schedule better than Emmett did himself, and more to the point, Marcus knew how this fussy director was about personal calls during filming…_

" _Good, good," he said absently, and Emmett heard shuffling papers. The line was silent for a moment before Emmett's curiosity bubbled over._

" _What is it, Marcus?" he asked. "I don't have much time. We're doing another take in a few minutes…"_

" _I need you to come to my office as soon as possible," said Marcus. "We have some…_ things _we need to discuss."_

" _What things?"_

" _Come by tomorrow morning."_

" _Marcus…" Emmett resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair, knowing that if he did the director would pitch a fit and he'd be sent back to hair and makeup. Emmett might be an internationally famous actor, but this new director did not let him get away with anything._

" _I'm serious, Emmett," said Marcus, and Emmett could not miss the tone of anxiety in his voice._

" _Is everything okay?"_

" _Not sure," said Marcus. "Come by as early as you can tomorrow—if I'm not in yet Victoria will call and get an ETA—it's important."_

" _How important?" asked Emmett, turning away from the assistant that poked her head in to the dressing room._

" _Well that depends on how much you already know," said Marcus. "Come by and we'll talk. And keep away from the tabloids."_

" _The tabloids?" asked Emmett, a spark of irritation rising up in him. "Whatever they're printing is bullshit, and you know it…"_

" _We'll talk tomorrow."_

" _Sir?" The little assistant looked anxious. "They're asking for you…"_

" _Go and work," said Marcus, hearing the girl. "I'll see you tomorrow."_

 _Emmett had no choice but to hang up._

 _When he got home that night, it took everything in him not to go online and figure out what was going on._

Emmett snapped back to attention, his knee ceasing its bouncing, as Marcus' door opened and Marcus himself came in, stormy and disheveled. It was barely 7 in the morning, and while Emmett was used to long nights and early mornings, he suspected that Marcus was rather fond of his sleep.

"Hey," said Emmett, smiling easily at his agent. "What—"

Marcus silenced him with a surly glare, procuring a stack of tabloid magazines. Emmett bristled and the two stared off, one angry and the other confused, until Marcus finally broke the silence.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

"No," said Emmett, leaning back in his seat. "I just showed up like you asked me to…"

"Any _news,"_ interrupted Marcus again, sounding angry. "Anything you haven't told me?" Emmett, growing more and more agitated, leaned over to try and take a magazine from the top of the stack, but his hand was slapped away. Temper flaring, he turned to Marcus, eyebrows raised.

"About what?" he growled, pleased to see Marcus recoil. Emmett knew he intimidated people. "Did Heidi say something?"

"No," said Marcus.

"Something about the sequel?"

"No."

"You gonna be straight with me?" asked Emmett, leaning forward. He still could not read the headlines, but he thought he could see the corner of a familiar picture—one of him and his costars on a beach in Spain.

"I'm just trying to give you the benefit of the doubt," scowled Marcus. "I mean, I thought you were aware of how this business works. I need _complete_ disclosure, or else I can't be expected to keep up with your PR…"

"It's not _your_ job," snapped Emmett, "to handle my press. You have people for that, and they're updated weekly on my business…"

"It _is_ my job," retorted Marcus, "when something like _this…"_

"If you're going to be cryptic, I'll walk out of here right now and take myself elsewhere," said Emmett, losing his patience. Marcus' jaw twitched but Emmett stared resiliently back at him, refusing to budge. The agent let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Alright. Let's not be rash." Marcus was not stupid—he knew how much Emmett's business meant to him. He was on thin ice ever since he had orchestrated the relationship with the model, Heidi Chornsky. Emmett had detested the idea—he had never met a more vapid or self-centered woman in his entire life—but even he had to admit, it had done wonders for his career. Ever since he had started going out to functions and dinners with her, he had been plastered on the covers of at least three magazines per week. Marcus had hired another desk girl, Vicky, just to help handle the influx of mail and media requests. Heidi's agent had been likewise inundated, as the girl had been snagged for a number of primetime television interviews, and her modelling contracts had been renewed for another year.

"This," said Marcus, tossing one of the magazines down on the desk, "is what I'm talking about." It was one of the _magazines_ —even in his head Emmett used that word lightly—that often decorated the checkouts at grocery stores. Rolling his eyes Emmett reached down to pick it up, wondering what foul lies it had printed this time. When he saw the cover, he froze.

 _Swan Family in Ruins! A Family Divided by Tragedy. See page 47 for details_.

Accordingly, Emmett flipped through to the aforementioned page, scanning the first few lines for context. His eyes barely skimmed the first paragraph before he learned just what the article was about, and he paled.

 _Sources dictate that Charles Swan, father of superstar Emmett Swan, passed away last October. Why hasn't the public heard? Where was Emmett Swan?_

To answer their own question, the magazine had included a splash of photos, all ones he recognized, from the movie he had filmed in Spain over the summer. There he was, on October 13th, laughing with his costars after they had finished up the beach scene. It was the same photo from the front cover.

"What is this?" he demanded, looking up at Marcus with an angry face. Emmett felt sick as he glanced down again at the smiling photograph, remembering quite clearly that day on the beach. He and a few extras had just finished filming, and a they had taken over the private beach that belonged to the villa Emmett was renting…

"You tell me," said Marcus coolly, sitting back. "The press is having a field day, I can tell you. Those magazines will be on the shelves by this afternoon, and they're all telling the same story."

"I don't…" began Emmett, snatching another magazine. "I didn't…"

 _Emmett's Family Tragedy_

 _Emmett Swan Celebrates in Wake of Father's Death_

 _Superstar Bails on Father's Funeral_

"I know you're not close with your family," said Marcus, choosing his words carefully as Emmett tore through page after page, "but I need to know. Is this true?"

Emmett looked up, trying not to let his emotions run away with him. Marcus' hard mask melted away when he saw the bright eyes and pale face in front of him.

"I don't know," said Emmett, dumbstruck. As he flipped through the pages, skimming the harsh words he saw printed there, his mind was only focused on one thing.

Bella _._ Where was Bella?

"You don't know?" asked Marcus, incredulous. "He's your father, for god's sake…"

"I know that!" Emmett shouted, glaring hotly at his agent. "I haven't spoken to the man in…"

"Five years, I know," said Marcus, sour.

Emmett could not find it in him to put the magazines back down on the desk. He could not stop himself from flipping through them, looking for any detail he could find. He had not expected this kind of news—he had been expecting Marcus to ream him for his refusal of the lucrative script he had read the previous month. He had expected some more news about the sequel he had grudgingly agreed to do, though the work was hard and demanding. Part of him had expected to find another angry rant from Heidi's publicist, who was thoroughly outraged that Emmett would not make more of an effort with her client, though both Emmett and Marcus felt that Emmett had done more than his fair share.

"My family…" he said, finding only one mention of a nameless relative in the six magazines he had scanned. "Have you…?"

"Nothing," said Marcus. "I didn't know anything about this until last night, when that cow Chelsea sent me an email."

"Who told her?" demanded Emmett, wiping angrily at his cheek as a tear slipped down. "Where did she get this?"

"I don't know, Emmett," said Marcus. "I swear to you, I don't. I honestly thought you knew."

"No," said Emmett, shaking his head. _It could not be true._ "If I had known…"

"Who can I call?" asked Marcus, taking out a pad of paper. "We need to get some confirmation…"

"He can't be dead." Emmett's voice was weak. "He's only fifty five…"

"Be that as it may," said Marcus, "we have to find out where the rumor started."

Emmett sat back, his stomach fluttering. _He had to talk to..._

"Bella," he said finally, glancing up at Marcus. "Call the house and ask for Bella."

"And she is?" asked Marcus, eyebrows raised. Cold, sickening guilt washed through him, and the words seemed to stick in his throat.

"My sister."

There was a long, pregnant pause while Marcus stared back at him, blinking. Emmett could not mistake the anger, hard and icy, that settled on his face.

"Your _what_ , excuse me?" he demanded. "Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, perfect," said Marcus, anger bubbling up in his voice. "Do you know what this will do? If the press finds out you have a sister, who you so conveniently _abandoned_ to vacation in Spain…"

"I did no such thing," growled Emmett, standing. Marcus, as righteously angry as he was, knew better than to get Emmett riled up. Emmett was not a violent man by any means—he was one of the gentlest people Marcus knew—but Marcus was under no delusion. If he pushed too hard, or antagonized too much, Emmett would not hesitate to walk out of his office and bring his business elsewhere, something that Marcus could neither tolerate nor afford. Emmett advanced to the desk, slamming his fists down. The bang was so loud that even Vicky, the new girl, yelped in surprise as she settled in at the reception desk.

"Sit down right _now_ ," barked Marcus. "You're my best client, but don't you dare think I won't have you thrown out."

Emmett sat, stormy-faced.

"Tell me _everything."_

Rubbing his eyes, Emmett began to speak.

* * *

The black Mercedes was the least obvious car he owned, although he knew it would stand out in the thoroughly middle-class neighbourhood he'd grown up in. He had dressed the part, forgoing the suits and ties he had become known for in favour of an old band t-shirt and a pair of loose jeans, hoping, beyond hope, that this change of habit would deflect any observant onlookers.

Emmett could not leave his own yard without be attacked by fans, screaming and demanding his attention. Normally, he rather enjoyed it. He found it funny how girls would fawn, and grown men would slip him scraps of paper for a quick autograph.

Today, however, he wanted none of that attention. Today, he was determined not to be seen.

Crawling slowly through the streets, under the cover of budding twilight, Emmett wound his way through the familiar roads and passages. His phone was on the seat beside him, waiting for the phone call he knew was coming, though he dreaded the voice he might hear.

Marcus had tried calling the old home number Emmett knew by heart. Emmett had fidgeted, with bated breath as they waited for someone to pick up. The sound from Marcus' phone had echoed in the quiet office, the speakerphone ringing loudly enough for even Vicky, who was pointedly avoiding the room, to overhear from her chair at reception.

" _The number you have reached is no longer in service…"_

The fear had sunk in then.

Emmett had spent the entire day with Marcus, digging through social media and old phone numbers to find someone, _anyone_ , who could tell them what had happened. Emmett had pulled up his private Facebook account, finding Bella's page easily enough, but they were not friends and he could not message her. Her privacy settings, no doubt fuelled by Charlie's fear of internet crime, sealed her up tight, and Emmett could not reach her.

The most promising lead they had uncovered was a name and phone number for one Angela Weber in Chicago, and Emmett was not even sure she was the right one. Emmett knew he could not call the number himself in case he was wrong and this woman was some kind of deranged fan, so he grudgingly allowed Marcus to call from his office phone.

No one had answered, and Emmett, unable to stand the waiting any longer, had Marcus promise to forward any calls that came in to the office to his personal cell phone. He had bolted out of the office then, ignoring Marcus' protests, shooting him a quick text message to let him know where he was going. Emmett trusted that Marcus would smooth things over with the film crew he was working with—that was his job, after all.

That night, Emmett had slipped into his Mercedes and driven off into the night, driving non-stop until he reached Washington state. Seattle was as familiar to him as Beverly Hills was now, and it was almost an automatic response to turn into the once-familiar suburb.

Creeping ever closer to the house he was dreading, Emmett resolved himself to icy courage. He would not, he vowed, cower in the face of his father. If he pulled into the driveway and saw the angry, taciturn face staring back at him through the curtains, he would say his piece drive away. He had no desire to intrude in Charlie's life any more than he had to, though he ached to lay eyes on his sister.

Bella had written him back exactly one time since his departure, and Emmett supposed that Charlie had finally gotten to her. He wrote her faithfully, once every month, detailing the events of his life and business and asking careful questions about hers. Years of silence had turned his questions speculative—Emmett had no way of really knowing what she was up to. When she was fourteen, he asked about high school. On her sixteenth birthday, he had written asking her about her driver's license. At the end of June in her eighteenth year, Emmett had spent an entire night writing the longest letter he had yet, letting her know how proud he was of her for, undoubtedly, graduating high school. Emmett knew his sister was smart—she always had been—and he had no doubt in his mind that she had gone on to bigger and better things. Even after that September, when Emmett was sure she had moved away for college, he had continued to write to her, though he was not sure she had ever received those letters. Every birthday, Christmas, and quirky holiday throughout the year, Emmett had written her a generous check, though according to his account statements, none of them had ever been cashed.

The silence had almost been enough to discourage him, but he had left his return address and phone number at the bottom of every note he had sent her.

Pulling up to the corner he was looking for, Emmett was surprised to see that there was no white picket fence encasing the yard. Emmett remembered the summer his father had spent huffing and puffing over fence posts, nails, and boards, giving in to the one demand his mother had made. Renee had been pretty handy herself and would have normally been excited to build something like that, but she had been heavily pregnant that summer, so Charlie had been put on fence duty.

Emmett wondered if the memory of Renee had finally become too much, and Charlie had torn it down.

As he drew closer to the little corner house, Emmett saw with dismay that there was no police cruiser in the driveway. There was no car that might have belonged to his sister, either, though Emmett could not be certain that she even lived there…

He pulled to a stop outside the house and could see, through the front window, a strange woman bent over a pile of cardboard boxes.

Emmett stepped out of the car.

When he knocked on the door, the little blonde lady opened it eagerly, stopping dead when she saw who he was.

"You're…" she said, spluttering. "You…"

"Hi," said Emmett, turning on the charm as best he could under the circumstances. "My name is Emmett Swan. Can I come in?"

"I…" said the woman, stammering. "Yes! Of course! Andrew!" She directed the last shout at the staircase, and a man poked his head down.

"What, Jude?"

"We've got company!"

"Who is it? Luke and Laura?"

"No," said the woman, flushing red. "Come down!" She turned to Emmett. "Can I… can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," said Emmett, looking around the kitchen with painful nostalgia. The cupboards were just as he remembered them, down to the chipped paint and the one crooked door above the stove. Emmett knew that door well—he had placed many little notes and trinkets up there for Bella to find when they were children. He knew Charlie had known about it, though he never seemed to mind when Bella, thinking herself sneaky, would creep out of her bedroom while she was supposed to be doing her homework to slide a chair, rather noisily, up to the stove. More than once, Emmett had caught his father laughing under his breath, whispering that Bella would stand no chance of sneaking out as a teenager if _that_ was her idea of stealth…

The man, Andrew, broke Emmett out of his musings when he loped into the kitchen with easy grace, stopping dead when he caught sight of the newcomer.

"Holy _shit,"_ he said, glancing at his wife. "What…?"

"I don't know," said the woman, looking excited. "I just opened the door, and there he was!"

"I'm sorry to intrude," said Emmett, interrupting. He stepped further into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the window. "I used to live here."

"Here?" asked the man, looking around in wonder. "In this place?"

Emmett nodded, frowning. "Did you buy it?"

"Yes," said Jude, glancing at her husband. "The bank had it up for sale."

"The bank?" asked Emmett, startled. "Not the previous owners?"

A shadow passed over Andrew's face.

"Nah," he said, leaning on the counter. "I don't know what happened to the girl who was living here. The old man across the street told us what happened, but he didn't know where she ended up…"

"What happened?" demanded Emmett, fierce. "I mean…" He backtracked when the little lady jumped.

"Did you know the other owners?" asked Jude hesitantly, a frown passing over her face.

"Yes," said Emmett. "Was it Mr. Ferguson who told you about them?"

"Yes, that's his name," said Jude, smiling. "The man just across the way."

Emmett glanced covetously through the front window, relieved to see lights in the windows of the house across the street. He reached behind him for the doorknob.

"Thank you," said Emmett. "I'll be back, if you don't mind…"

"Not at all," said Andrew. "Would you…" The man had taken a marker from the counter, and was looking at Emmett with the same wide-eyed stare he got from all his fans.

"I'll sign anything you want when I get back," promised Emmett. "I have to ask Mr. Ferguson some questions first."

"Oh sure, sure…" said Andrew. "I think he's still up. He was out shoveling that slush out of his driveway about half an hour ago…"

"Thank you." Emmett left the house in a rush, a flood of memories hitting him when he stepped onto the stairs- the bottom one still creaked. He ran across the road, hood up and head ducked even though there was no need—no one on the sleepy street was watching him. Mr. Ferguson had not turned on the outside light so Emmett was able to take his hood down, staring intently at the worn wooden door.

Rustling up the courage to knock on it proved harder than he'd anticipated, though he'd done it countless times before. Mr. Ferguson had been the one to babysit Bella when Emmett was at practice and their father was at work. Many times, Emmett had come running over to collect her…

Where was she now?

He rapped three times in quick succession, taking a step back so the door would not hit him when it opened.

"Bless my soul," said Mr. Ferguson, opening the door and staring up at him. Emmett could not think of what to say. "So you've come home at last."

The man had changed very little in the 12 years Emmett had spent away from home. Just as he remembered him, little Mr. Ferguson stood barely over five and a half feet, with a tuft of wispy white hair. His face had a few more lines in it but his glasses were the same as they had been before—large-framed with glass so thick that his watery blue eyes were magnified to almost comedic proportions. As a small child, Bella used to get such a kick out of it when Mr. Ferguson would fix his stare on her—she had always thought that those glasses made him look like a cartoon.

"Can I come in?" asked Emmett after a moment of silence, shuffling awkwardly. Being back in this place made him feel like a naughty teenager again.

"Certainly, young man," said Mr. Ferguson, stepping aside. "Take your shoes off, and come up to the kitchen. It's been a while since you've been around these parts."

"Sure has," said Emmett lowly, stepping into the small living room. Mr. Ferguson stared up at him, as if he was taking in every inch of the boy he had once known. Emmett followed him into the kitchen, helping him take two cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits into the living room. Emmett was ushered into the comfiest armchair, though he tried to insist otherwise. Mr. Ferguson pulled up a hard, wooden chair from the dining room and sat across from Emmett, sitting his coffee down on a small end table. Neither one spoke for a long moment—Emmett did not know what to say, and Mr. Ferguson only stared. After a long moment, the old man opened his mouth and spoke.

"I suppose you're here about your daddy," he said. Emmett decided to play dumb.

"Where is dad?"

Mr. Ferguson stared at him.

"Oh boy…" he said, his voice sad and downcast. "Didn't your sister tell you?"

"No," said Emmett, shaking his head. "I hadn't heard anything until yesterday…"

"He's gone, son," said Mr. Ferguson, and Emmett was surprised to feel a pang of genuine remorse. He and his father had never seen eye to eye, even when Emmett was small. Charlie had never approved of Emmett's career path, and the final, tragic blowout over Emmett's debut acting gig had been the tipping point in their relationship.

" _You will go to school!"_ Charlie had shouted, pointing a finger in his son's face. _"I didn't save for ten years for you to be a dropout!"_

" _It's not what I want!" Emmett shouted back. In his eighteen years, he had never been so angry with his father as he was at this moment. "I'm sick of living under your terms!"_

" _You are MY son!" Charlie's voice was deep. "I will be damned if I watch you waste your life!"_

" _I'm an adult, dad, and I'm going to try," said Emmett, deciding to try and reason with Charlie. His father had always been rather cantankerous, and even more so after Renee had walked out, leaving him alone with two children. Charlie had been overjoyed when Emmett, right out of high school, had accepted his place at the University of Washington. At school, Emmett had taken up theater, and it was his performance in a semi-professional production of_ Antony and Cleopatra _that had earned him some recognition from bigger names in Hollywood._

" _You will not leave school!"_

" _It's not forever!" Emmett shouted. "It's for one term for god's sake. They've offered me a contract!" Charlie, always prone to anger, turned bright red, moustache quivering and chest heaving. Emmett was startled when his father rushed up to him, their faces only inches apart._

" _Then GO!" Charlie roared, shoving him back. Emmett stumbled, catching himself on the refrigerator. "Just like your fool of a mother! Go!"_

" _I am NOT her!" Emmett's roar had rattled the windows, and he heard his sister's footsteps upstairs as she scampered into her bedroom. Bella hated fighting…_

" _Get out!" Charlie had shouted back, throwing Emmett's suitcase out the front door. "Get out of my house!"_

" _Are you serious?"_

" _OUT!" Charlie tossed his backpack out as well. Emmett glanced back at his old Jeep, beyond happy that he had saved up enough to buy his own vehicle._

" _Dad…" Emmett was embarrassed to find his voice cracking. He was sure all the neighbours could hear…_

" _Get out," said Charlie again. "I will not put up with you wasting my money, and I sure as hell won't let you expose your sister to it." Emmett took up his bags, shocked and angry, throwing them haphazardly in the back of his Jeep. He glanced back only once at the house, seeing his father's hunched form in the doorway. Charlie was a stubborn man, and would not go back on his word—that much, Emmett knew. Maybe he would see reason once he had calmed down…_

 _On his way out of the driveway, he saw Bella's tearful face through the upstairs window, her little nose pressed against the glass._

"What happened?" asked Emmett, and Mr. Ferguson told him what little he knew.

"Got sick, I reckon," he said, shaking his head. "It came on him awful fast. Your sister came home from work one night and found him on the floor… she thought he was dead. I ain't never seen her so upset."

"Work?" asked Emmett, frowning. "She was working? She didn't go to school?"

"Well now," said Mr. Ferguson, troubled. "I don't reckon your daddy would let her."

"What?" asked Emmett, anger and frustration soaring through him. How could Charlie, after all the fighting and tears that had been shed over Emmett's decision to leave his education, deny his sister the same opportunity? Bella was bright. Bella _loved_ school.

"Well, the official story is that he had no more money to send her," said Mr. Ferguson quietly, resting his chin on his fingers. "But that little girl won herself some scholarships, so there was no real basis for it…"

Emmett listened in quiet fury. He could not drink his coffee—his throat felt tight—but he squeezed the mug in his hands.

"I reckon he just didn't wanna lose her," said Mr. Ferguson. "She did everything for your pa."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when he got bad, she took over the house," he said. "Cooking and cleaning, and making sure Charlie got his medicine. I sent my boy over to shovel her driveway when the time came, since I knew she was having a hard time keeping up…"

Emmett vaguely remembered Mr. Ferguson's great-grandson, just a baby when he had left. He supposed the boy would be older now.

"Where did Bella go?" he asked? "Why didn't she keep the house?"

Mr. Ferguson stared up at him.

"Now where do you suppose," he began, "that girl would get the money for a house like that? She just about wore herself out working at that old diner of Mike Newton's, and the little bookstore Bernice opened up. But she had utility bills, and a mortgage, and medical bills…"

"I would've helped," said Emmett angrily, wiping his eyes as his tears overflowed. "Why didn't she call?"

"She did, son," said Mr. Ferguson. "Many times. Called from my phone once too, since she couldn't get through on her landline after the first few times …"

"When?" demanded Emmett. "She never called me. Not _once_."

"I tell you, she did," said Mr. Ferguson. "She had your daddy's little black book full of numbers."

"Dad never had my number," said Emmett, confused. "He never wanted it…"

"I tell you, he did. How do you suppose she would get it, if your daddy hadn't written it down?" asked the old man, frowning. "She sure as hell didn't get it from you. No one's heard hide nor hair of you since you slipped away to do your acting."

"I wrote her every month!" cried Emmett, confused and dismayed. "Every month, without fail."

"Well, if that's true, she never got 'em," he said sadly.

"They got here just fine," said Emmett through gritted teeth. "Not once were any of them sent back to me…"

"Well, I don't know," said Mr. Ferguson, and Emmett was growing irrationally annoyed at the old man's calm.

"I swear I did," Emmett said again. "I wouldn't lie about something like that…"

"Well, maybe your daddy," said Mr. Ferguson, taking a long sip of coffee. "Everyone for about four blocks could hear the shouting match you had with him the day you left, and after you were gone he got awful protective of his girl…"

"Yeah," said Emmett, anger at his late father rearing up once more. "I'll bet _daddy_ had everything to do with it."

Emmett could not believe what he was hearing.

"Well, those folks across the street seem real nice," said Mr. Ferguson gently, glancing out the front window. "Maybe you can go and ask 'em if you could take a peek at the old stuff? See if you can't find out where your sister went—she slipped away on us in the middle of the night, without so much as a fare you well…"

"Do they still have it?" he asked. Part of him was pleased that there might be some clues left behind, but another, much larger part of him knew that the more things were left behind in the house, the more destitute his sister would be.

"I would guess so," said Mr. Ferguson, prying the mug out of Emmett's angry hands. "I'm guessing your sister took some of it, as I saw her packing that old truck of hers with boxes, but there's no way she could take it all."

"What truck?" asked Emmett, glancing out the window at his old driveway as if he expected to see it sitting there.

"Your daddy got her an old red truck for her seventeenth," said Mr. Ferguson. "An old red Chevy."

"Do you know the plate number?" asked Emmett.

"I sure do," said Mr. Ferguson.

 _Another clue._

"Can you write it down for me?" asked Emmett, fishing in his pockets for a spare bit of paper.

"I can do you one better," said Mr. Ferguson. "Go on over to the mantle and bring me back the photograph."

Emmett walked quickly to the fireplace, looking down at the collection of framed photographs sitting there. The one he was looking for stood out to him immediately- he had no trouble placing the face that was smiling up at him. It was Bella—he would know her anywhere—but she was much older than he remembered her. The last Emmett had seen of her was her tearful little face, still rounded with youth, watching him drive away from the house, not knowing that it would be the last time she saw him for a long while. The girl in this picture had lost some of her roundness—she was slender and pretty, with long, dark hair and wide, soft eyes. She was leaning up against a rusty red truck, looking as if it had come directly out of the stone age, but the pride and joy on her face was unmistakable.

"You can keep that for now," said Mr. Ferguson, stepping up behind him. "That's one of the only pictures I've got of her where she's all grown up. Miss Bella hates pictures, you know…"

"Yeah," said Emmett, sniffling. "She always did."

Looking down at the photograph, Emmett could not help the sadness and regret. He had missed so much of her life, had left her alone for so long…

Emmett held the photograph carefully in his hands as he made his way to the door, walking determinedly back to the little corner house.

* * *

In the basement of his old house, with Jude Allen's blessing, Emmett sifted through box after box of old memories. Bella, it appeared, had packed up as much as she could, though she had been forced to leave most of it behind. In these abandoned boxes Emmett found all kinds of old mementos—childhood photo albums, Bella's old high school yearbook (which he sure to take with him), and stacks of old paperwork.

Emmett's fears were confirmed when he looked through his father's bank box of old tax returns and work-related files. Charlie had been a meticulous man, keeping all of his papers in careful order, and it was hidden among these, where he knew his sister would have never have looked, that he found a stack of familiar envelopes.

None of them had been opened—none of them even looked like they had been touched. Emmett looked back and saw them all in order, from oldest to newest, just as he had written them. Twelve for each year he had written. Over a hundred letters, sitting and collecting dust in the basement…

Emmett could barely contain his ire, throwing the rest of the papers down in a fury. He stood up and walked away from the boxes, brushing a cobweb out of his face as he moved towards the stairs once more. He could not do this tonight—he could not sit here and sift through old memories when he knew, without a doubt, that his sister was somewhere out there, alone. He would send a truck for it tomorrow, if the new owners were agreeable. Tonight, his focus was on one thing, and one thing only.

He had to find Bella.

Emmett left the little corner house in a distracted flurry, signing a few photographs for the kind couple now living there. Emmett took nothing but the yearbook and his unopened letters with him when he left that night, making arrangements for a moving company to come by and get the rest of his stuff tomorrow.

When Emmett was back in his Mercedes, trying his best to keep himself together, he let the letters fall on the seat next to him. Seeing them all there, piled up and sealed, made his blood boil. He could not even begin to imagine what Bella must think of him—he had left her so abruptly, without so much as a goodbye, and then he had written her one short, quick letter to let her know where he had settled in. She had been only ten years old, so he had not been able to give her the details of what had happened that day so long ago. Instead, he had filled his letter with descriptions of the beaches and the beautiful houses he saw on his exploration of the city. Emmett had known that his sister would be worried for him—she always was, even when she did not need to be—so he had been sure to fill that first letter with nothing more than pleasant descriptions and happy tales. If every letter after that had been left unopened, he had no idea what Bella must think.

As he rubbed angrily at his face, running his hands roughly over his eyes, the phone buried under the pile of letters rang out, startling him. Emmett dug anxiously through the pile, fumbling to accept the call just before the answering service picked up.

"Hello?" he breathed, clearing his throat. "Hello?"

"Emmett." Marcus sounded tired. "I've got an Angela Weber on the line for you."

"Put her through," said Emmett, reaching in the glove compartment for a some paper and a pen. There was a click on Marcus' end of the phone, and Emmett heard a quiet female voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi," said Emmett, clearing his throat. "I don't know if…" Would Angela remember him? Would she know who he was? Was this even the right woman?

"Hi Emmett," she said, and Emmett breathed a sigh of relief. _She was the right one._

"Angela." Emmett's voice broke. "Do you know where she is?"

 **A/N: Everyone was so eager to tear Emmett apart! I hope this helps clear things up.**

 **Let me know what you think! I'll have a new chapter for you next weekend (maybe two, if I have the time to do it!)**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Emmett sat stiffly in a wooden armchair, his eyes glued to the rough carpet under his feet. He could see the swirling dust in the rare beams of sun streaming in through the window and the shadow of the chair on the wall. He had chosen well—up on the thirteenth floor of the Four Seasons Hotel he would not be bothered. Marcus, prepared as always, had made his reservation before Emmett had even left his old suburb, ending the phone call with Angela.

" _Do you know where she is?" Emmett could hear his voice shaking. He heard Angela shuffling some papers on her end before she responded, and by that time Emmett was already driving._

" _No," said Angela, downcast. "I haven't heard from her in weeks."_

" _When?"_

 _Angela told him all about the Facebook messages she'd exchanged with his sister all those weeks ago. Listening to Angela's story, Emmett could hear a note of sadness and worry in her voice that made his own stomach flutter with anxious butterflies._

" _Is there anyone else in town I can contact?" Emmett had asked, pulling over to find his pen and paper. "Is there someone else who might know where she went?"_

" _Well," said Angela slowly, "my mom and dad might know something, though I doubt it. They would have told me. There's also Mike, from the diner…"_

" _She works at Newton's?" asked Emmett, an unintentional grimace crossing his face._

" _She used to," said Angela. "She said in her messages that she quit…"_

" _Right," said Emmett, writing Newton's name down on the page. He remembered slimy Mike Newton from high school—Mike had been a senior when Emmett was a freshman. Emmett recalled the blonde peacock quite clearly, always flaunting himself proudly around the school. Emmett could remember being confused, positively baffled, when girls would flock to Mike. They were always giggling over his slick, oily hair and his dress shirts, reeking of cologne, that he always wore with the top few buttons undone. If Emmett was being honest, part of him had been jealous of Mike in those days—Emmett had been such a big, gangly kid when he started high school that none of the girls ever looked twice at him._

" _Anyone else?" Emmett asked._

 _Angela paused, and the line was silent._

" _I don't know," she said finally. "Mr. Ferguson?"_

" _Already done," said Emmett, frowning._

 _Angela was silent again and Emmett feared she would hang up. Before he could try and say thank you, or ask her another question, she spoke out. Her voice came at him in a rush, as if she had been holding back, and Emmett could not help the hint of shame that snuck up his spine._

" _She tried to call you, you know."_

" _I only found out yesterday…"_

" _She called you a bunch of times. She didn't want to, I know that, but she did it."_

" _I know," said Emmett, sighing. "I wish…"_

" _Why didn't you ever call?" she interrupted. "You left without a trace, and you never even bothered to call her? She loved you, Emmett."_

" _I wrote her," said Emmett, though the words sounded feeble. His eyes shifted guiltily to the pile of unopened letters scattered on the seat next to him._

" _Bullshit," snapped Angela, with more venom than Emmett had anticipated. He had never heard Angela curse before—she had always been the meek, sweet preacher's daughter when he'd known her. Emmett remembered, when he was a child, bribing each of the girls—Angela and Bella—with two dollars apiece if they would each say a curse word out loud. Emmett had been dared by his friends to tempt Angela, the neighbourhood do-gooder, into something illicit. The girls were only five and Emmett thirteen, so the worst thing he could come up with was to get them to swear._

 _Bella had whispered out a naughty word she'd learned in the schoolyard and taken her two dollars with relish, but Angela, looking scandalized, had buttoned her lips and shaken her head._

 _Even when Emmett had bumped it up to five dollars, she would not relent. Bella, seeing the cash, had gleefully chirped another word she'd learned, taking the money from her brother without even a hint of conscience…_

" _It's not," said Emmett, though there was no defensiveness in his voice this time. "I swear to you, I did…"_

" _Bella hasn't heard from you in twelve years," said Angela, and Emmett was dismayed to hear tears in her voice._

" _They're all sitting next to me in my car," he said, and Angela sniffled. "I just found them in Charlie's old tax box in the basement."_

" _What?"_

 _Emmett explained to her what he believed had happened._

" _She couldn't have known they were there," said Angela, and Emmett knew she was really crying now. "She couldn't have known."_

" _No."_

" _She would never have kept them secret," she cried, and Emmett heard a man in the background, trying to soothe her. "She was convinced that you'd left her…"_

" _I did," said Emmett, blinking hard. "I did leave her, and I've never been more sorry in my life than I am now."_

" _I should have come home!" Angela wailed, and Emmett bit his lip. He heard the man on the other end, sounding distressed, take the phone away._

" _Sorry," said the man. "Ang is pretty upset. I'm Ben, her fiancé."_

" _Emmett," he replied, clearing his throat. Tearing up in front of Angela was one thing, but this mystery man? Not a chance._

" _I know," sighed Ben. "Have you found anything out?"_

" _No," said Emmett. "She's not at the house, at any rate…"_

" _Ang talked to her parents yesterday, and we're going to come down next week," said Ben. "She was so upset when she couldn't go down for Mr. Swan's funeral, and now that no one knows where Bella is…"_

 _Emmett said nothing._

" _Go and talk to Caroline and Dennis," said Ben quietly. "They're some of the last ones to have seen her."_

" _Yeah," said Emmett, scribbling the number Ben rattled off for him. "I'll give them a call."_

" _Alright. See you, man."_

" _Thanks for your help. Say bye to Angela for me."_

" _Will do."_

" _Bye."_

 _The line clicked and Emmett, a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, sped out of the suburb, dialling the number he'd been given._

Now, as he sat in the dusty hotel room, he waited impatiently for the knock on the door that would announce Mr. and Mrs. Weber's arrival. They had been only too quick to agree to meet him, neither one knowing just what had happened once Bella had lost contact.

It was all he could do to stay put as he sat, hunched over his paper coffee cup, his foot tapping a frenetic rhythm under the table. The coffee was scalding—they always made it too hot—but he could not sit idle. Since he had left Los Angeles it was as if some strange creature had taken up residence in his body, a creature that was hell bent on driving him mad. It clawed at him all night, keeping him awake, and prowled anxiously in his chest during his waking hours. Sometimes, Emmett felt as if he could master the beast—as if he could tamp it down and force it to submit. But other times, especially when he was alone, he could feel it creeping back in, slithering up his back to rest its heavy head on his shoulder.

Where was his sister?

The knock on the door roused him from his musings and he fairly jumped out of his seat, unconsciously smoothing his shirt and hair as he moved to the door. He could almost hear his father's voice, stern and serious, as he lectured Emmett on the proper protocol for greeting clergy. Back when Mr. Weber led church services, Emmett had never been allowed to appear before the Webers in anything less than his Sunday best. Emmett knew that although that chapter of his life had ended long ago, it was with his father's mantra in mind that he'd chosen the only dress shirt and stiff, black pants he had brought with him for this particular meeting.

When Emmett opened the door it felt like he was taking a step into the past. It was all he could do to smile and step aside as he welcomed little blonde Mrs. Weber and tall, stately Mr. Weber into his room. They looked a little older than Emmett remembered—Mrs. Weber had a few more lines and Mr. Weber's dark hair was greying around the edges, but the smiles they gave him were genuine and familiar.

"It's been a long time," said Mr. Weber, shaking Emmett's hand. "You've done very well for yourself, son."

"Please sit," said Emmett, gesturing them to the table he'd set up. His computer was waiting for them there, along with pens, paper, and the picture he'd taken from Mr. Ferguson's house. His letters to Bella, all still sealed, sat stacked and neat against the wall.

Mrs. Weber looked very sad as she glanced at the table, a frown marring her face.

"Come now, Caroline," said Dennis anxiously, ushering his wife into a chair. "We'll get it all sorted out."

"Have you had any news?" asked Mrs. Weber, taking Emmett's hand and squeezing it. "We haven't heard a thing…"

Emmett's face fell.

"No," he said. "I was hoping you'd have some news."

"She spoke to me on Facebook a few weeks ago," said Mrs. Weber gently, pulling out her phone. "She said that she was safe, and that she was out of state…"

"Out of state?" asked Emmett, glancing down at the message on the screen. "Where?"

Mrs. Weber handed him the phone.

 _From: Bella Swan_

 _Hi Mrs. Weber. Sorry I've been away. I lost my electricity a few weeks ago so I haven't been online. I promise I'm okay. The house is gone and I've decided to find someplace new to go. I'm not in Washington anymore, but I promise I'm okay. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I'll let Angela know I'm safe. Thanks for everything you've done._

Emmett felt sick.

"We'd thought she'd go to you," said Mrs. Weber, taking the phone gently when Emmett laid it on the table. "We were almost positive that she'd go to California to seek you out."

"I never heard from her," said Emmett, shaking his head. "I still haven't…"

No one spoke for a long moment.

"Has she posted anything online at all?" asked Emmett, glancing covetously at the phone. "Anything?"

"Nothing," said Mrs. Weber, shaking her head. "I've checked at least once a day, to see where she is or how she's doing, but she hasn't been on in a long time."

"Is that strange for her?" Emmett felt terrible, having to ask these questions about his own sister. The beast inside him whispered darkly, reminding him that it was _he_ who should be the interviewee, not the interviewer. He should have been there at his father's bedside. He should never have left her. He should have called. He should have taken her home with him. He should have hugged her, and dried her tears, and told her a thousand times how much he loved her, as he was no longer certain he'd have the chance.

"A bit strange, yes," said Mrs. Weber. Emmett only noticed that he was crying when she handed him a tissue from her purse, always the motherly type, so he could wipe his eyes.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, dear," she said, her own eyes bright. "You know, we had begun to wonder whether or not you were truly through with your family."

"I never wanted to be," said Emmett, shaking his head. He fought for control. "I didn't want to leave dad, or Bella…"

"I know, dear," said Mrs. Weber, handing him another tissue. "Angela told us all about the fight a long time ago. She heard all the news from Bella back when it first happened."

"I never should have left," said Emmett, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have left her alone…"

"Now, now," said Mr. Weber, and Emmett almost smiled when he recognized the tone of gentle reprimand from his youth. Mr. Weber had never been one to shout or get angry, but Emmett had heard the calm, chiding voice more than once as a rambunctious child.

"There's no point living in the past," said Mr. Weber. "All we can do now is move forward. And step one is to find out where that girl of ours has gotten off to."

Emmett did not miss the tone of worry and love in his voice, nor did the _our girl_ escape him.

"Where would she have gone?" asked Emmett, rubbing his eyes. "You guys know her better than I do…"

"I thought she was with you," said Mrs. Weber again, pursing her lips. "It never occurred to me that she'd go someplace else…"

"I haven't seen her," said Emmett. "Trust me. If she had shown up anywhere where I was, there would be a media uproar."

"There already is," said Mr. Weber darkly. "We've seen all those magazine covers. They're telling some horrible stories, you know..."

"I don't care about _that_ ," said Emmett, looking up. Marcus would not be happy to hear him say so. "They can print whatever lies they want. I just want to know that she's safe. If that means they're going to make me out as some kind of monster, then so be it."

Mr. Weber simply sighed.

"I think we've only got one option left, then," he said, glancing at his wife. "If you don't know where she is, and nobody here knows, we should go to the police. We'll file a missing person's report. It's our best chance based on what we have right now."

"Yeah, I guess it is," said Emmett. A feeling of dread, of complete and utter disbelief, flowed through him at that moment. How could she be _missing?_ How could no one, not one, single person that loved her, know where she was?

The Webers and Emmett piled into their two separate cars in the underground parking lot, Emmett leading the way to his father's old precinct.

* * *

When Emmett got to the familiar police station it took all his strength and willpower to enter the building. It had changed some since his last visit, but the precinct they had chosen was the one where Charlie had spent over thirty years of his life. The smell of the place, like pine and copier paper, was the same as he remembered it. When he looked behind the desk, he could see his father's old workstation, which was now occupied by a dark-haired man with a straight-from-college look about him.

"How can I help…?" The woman's voice trailed off when she looked up, seeing who was in front of her. Emmett, while expecting this response, was not entirely patient enough for it, and it was all he could to mind his manners.

"I'd like to report a missing person," he said, the words sticking in his mouth. "My sister."

"Billy?" The woman's voice called out to a grey-haired, stately looking man seated at a rear-facing desk that Emmett had not noticed, and Emmett felt his heart sink. The man turned towards them, the familiar gaze resting on Emmett's face before he stopped dead, blinking. Billy looked just as Emmett remembered him—tall and smiling, with crinkly brown eyes and a long, crooked nose.

"Good lord," said Billy, blinking as he took in the sight of Emmett. Each man inventoried the other, taking in over a decade's worth of change. Emmett knew that as he had grown up, especially during his twenties, he'd developed a striking resemblance to his late father. He had Charlie's nose and chin, down to the shadow of a beard he was now sporting, and even his dimples had been inherited from his father, though Charlie smiled so little that no one would ever know it.

"Emmett Swan," said Billy, cracking a small smile. "I haven't seen you in the flesh in… God… Fifteen years? To what do we owe this pleasure? You look just like your dad, you know."

Emmett knew then, as surely as if he had already spoken, that Billy would be the best, most dedicated officer they could have investigating Bella's whereabouts, besides maybe Charlie himself. Although Charlie had forced Emmett out of his life, Bella had always been the office sweetheart—everyone had fawned over her ever since Charlie had first paraded her through the office as a tiny baby. Emmett remembered, as much as he could remember his eight-year-old life, how proud he had been when his father had seated him in an old chair by that desk in the corner with the tiny baby in his arms, making them pose for their first picture together. On that day, Billy had looked just as he did now, all wide-eyed and smiling, proud of the little family. Emmett knew that family was something the force took seriously—the child of one officer was a child to all, and it would be a cold day in hell when someone got away with hurting one of them.

The anxiety that had taken over these past few days reared its ugly head again at the memory of Bella's first visit here. Emmett, thinking back, was reminded of the promise he had made that day to watch over the baby as a good big brother should. It was unreasonable, he knew, to hold himself to an eight-year-old's vow, but he could not stop the flood of nostalgia and worry that came with his memory.

" _You be a good big brother now," Billy had said. "That little girl right there is going to be the most precious thing in your life for a long time."_

 _Emmett had held the baby a little tighter at those words, a sense of responsibility for this new little creature rearing up strong and fierce. Before she had been born, Emmett had prayed as hard as he could for a little brother. He had wanted someone he could take out biking. Someone he could play sports with, who he could roughhouse with, and maybe take fishing once Dad taught him how to do it on his own. Emmett remembered putting his hands on his mother's belly, ignoring her laughter, and begging that baby to please, please, please be a boy…_

 _But even at eight years old, even with the disappointment he'd suffered when his father had introduced him to his_ sister, _not his brother, Emmett could not help but fall a little bit in love with the tiny thing. He would never admit it, especially not around his_ father _, but he kind of liked the way her little lips pursed when she looked at him. He adored the way her big, baby blue eyes would peer into his, all wide and focused. And then, as he held her in that wooden chair, she had reached up a tiny hand and wrapped her little fingers around his, and Emmett just about swelled with childlike pride._

" _I think she likes me!" he had cried, letting baby Bella bring his finger to her mouth._

 _Even Charlie had laughed then, and Emmett forever remembered the strange look of mingled joy and wisdom on his father's face._

"Emmett?" asked Billy concernedly, breaking him from his memory. "Son, what is it? We were all so sorry to hear about Charlie…"

"Bella's missing." He had not intended to blurt it out so abruptly, so harshly. Billy stared at him, blinking, before he let them into the back of the office, bringing them into an interrogation room.

"What do you mean, missing?" he demanded, closing the door. "How long has she been gone?"

"We don't know," said Mrs. Weber, shaking her head. "We thought she was with him…" She jerked her head in Emmett's direction.

"I haven't seen her in years," finished Emmett, glancing up only momentarily to see the confusion and hurt on Billy's face.

"When's the last time anyone has seen her?" he asked, going from concerned friend to police officer with almost shocking quickness. "Where was she last seen?"

"Dennis and I last saw her at our home," said Mrs. Weber quickly, letting Billy write down the information. "She came for dinner, but Mr. Ferguson saw her last, I think..."

Billy said nothing more to Emmett, not even sparing him a friendly glance, as he took Mrs. Weber's story.

* * *

"So she's been reported missing?" asked Marcus, his voice tinny on the hotel landline.

"Yes," he sighed. "I'm staying in Seattle until we figure things out. The cops are trying to figure out where she went from here. She told the Webers she was out of state…"

"I've got media blowing up my phone at all hours," said Marcus. " _People, GQ, The Globe, The New York Times, eTalk, TMZ…_ "

"I don't know what to tell you," said Emmett, rubbing his eyes. He had never wished harder than he did at this moment that he had listened to Charlie's advice—that he had never moved to Hollywood to pursue acting instead of finishing business school.

"You'll need to pick one and give an interview," said Marcus. "I've got Jenks on board, if you need him…"

"Thanks," said Emmett. Jenks was the lawyer Marcus had on retainer, who was quite popular in Hollywood for helping high profile people out of legal scrapes. Emmett was not entirely sure he would be needed, but he supposed it couldn't hurt.

"I'm putting him in contact with that cop, Black, is it?" asked Marcus.

"Yeah, Billy Black," said Emmett. "What for?"

"So we know what information can be released to the media," said Marcus. "It's a miracle no one's leaked the whole story yet."

"Have you talked to the office staff?" asked Emmett, his voice low. "Everyone I've spoken to is telling me that she tried calling your office."

"Not yet," said Marcus, grim. "That's on tomorrow's agenda. I promise you, if someone in this office did wrong, they'll be terminated."

"I hope so," said Emmett darkly. Emmett had a sneaking suspicion that the new girl, Vicky, was not all she claimed to be…

"I'll keep you posted on that front. In the meantime, start thinking of which outlet you want to talk to. I'll come up with a statement for us by tomorrow afternoon."

"Thanks man," said Emmett. "You're a lifesaver."

"Tell me about it." Emmett could not help but chuckle.

"How's the filming?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Well, they're pissed," said Marcus, "but they're going to go on doing stunt scenes with a body double. You're going to have an intense schedule when you get back."

"Figures," said Emmett, pinching his nose. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Family comes first," said Marcus, pausing only briefly. "I don't like it, but I do get it. When you get your sister back, everything will even out."

"Hopefully."

"Not hopefully," said Marcus. "You _will_ get her back."

"She's the only family I have left Marcus," he said, his voice low. "I don't have a choice. I _have_ to find her."

"And find her, you will."

Emmett wished he had Marcus' confidence.

* * *

It was three days before Emmett heard any news from either Marcus or Jenks— three days of unparalleled boredom. Emmett was glad he was not on set during this time—he was in no fit state to focus on his work. Those days gave him time to reflect, time to _think_ on everything that had happened, and all he had discovered this past week. He could not speak to the media until he got the go-ahead from the police department—he did not want to compromise their investigation. He could not fly back to Los Angeles, as he refused to leave Washington before he knew for certain that his sister was no longer here. He couldn't even step outside for a walk, since somehow news had leaked that he was staying at the Four Seasons and a steady stream of paparazzi had been camped outside the hotel for over a day and a half.

So Emmett sat, alone in his hotel room, living off of room service and vending machine snacks. He could not focus on the television or his work, could not make his mind turn to the things he had waiting for him back home, so he sat, often unsettled, in his chair by the window, looking out onto the street below.

Was Bella out there somewhere, roaming and alone? Had she found herself some place to stay—an apartment, perhaps, or a friend of which he had no knowledge? A sickening fear settled in him whenever he thought of where she _might_ be, or what _might_ have happened. She had told Mrs. Weber that she had lost electricity—how destitute had she been when she fled their family home, stealing away in the middle of the night? Did she have money for gas and food, or had she simply ventured out with whatever provisions she managed to bring along with her? Seattle was a rainy city—had she found herself some warm, dry place to sleep? He could only imagine her, alone and cold on some street corner, huddled under a makeshift shelter for warmth…

The more he wondered, the more he began to hate his own life—the big, warm house he had waiting for him in sunny California, the staff he employed to keep it running. Bella, his own sister, had nothing, while he, who was supposed to care for her, lived in the highest luxury. It was not right. When she came back to him, even if Bella wanted nothing to do with him, Emmett would make sure that she would never want for anything again. She would never be hungry, or cold, or frightened…

His phone rang, jolting him out of his anxious thoughts.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Swan. My name is Jason Jenks."

"Right," said Emmett, clearing his throat. "Marcus said you'd call."

"Yes sir," said the man. "I've been corresponding with the lead detective in your sister's case, and we've got the go ahead for a media release."

"Good, good…" Emmett couldn't pay attention.

"So, Marcus and I have decided that we should pursue one of the morning talk shows," he said. "We can find one that films in Washington and have you go down…"

"Is this going to help me find her?" asked Emmett, his voice tight.

"Well, it'll clear some of the confusion," said Jenks. "Have you read any of the stories that have come out?"

"No."

"Well," Jenks sounded hesitant. "They're coming out with the most _ridiculous_ stories. You've been accused of blackmail, mob ties, even of orchestrating a disappearance, though no one knows just _who_ has disappeared yet…"

"Hm."

"It can do damage to your image, which is Marcus' and my top concern."

"I won't do it if it won't help," said Emmett stubbornly. "Let them ruin me. I just need her back."

"It _will_ help," sighed Jenks, sounding annoyed. "Her face will be everywhere after this…"

Emmett felt a brief moment of concern, wondering how Bella would feel about having her pictures plastered on the cover of every magazine, TV show, tabloid, and newspaper in the country.

But if it helped her return to him, he would risk it.

"Set it up," he said, his voice cracking. "Do what you have to do. Just make sure I find her."

"We're doing everything we can, Mr. Swan. The detective should be in contact with you later to give you some more details."

"Did they find her?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" he demanded, sitting up straighter. He moved away from the window, resting himself on the edge of the bed. "Do you know something?"

"The detective will go through it with you," said Jenks, and Emmett grew increasingly frustrated. "Once you talk to him, if you have any questions, feel free to call me…"

"Just tell me if you found her," he asked. "Please."

"No," said Jenks. "We don't know exactly where she is…"

"But you know _kind of_ where she is?" he demanded.

"Mr. Black will talk to you about it," said Jenks, in what Emmett assumed was supposed to be a soothing voice. "Don't worry too much about it."

"Don't…" Emmett was outraged.

"Listen, someone will call you back later to answer your questions," said Jenks. "Marcus is waiting for me."

"But…"

"Good day, Mr. Swan. We'll be in touch about the interview."

"Wait!"

The phone clicked and the line went dead.

"Goddamn it!" Emmett's voice echoed through the room and his phone hit the mattress with a loud _thump_ when he tossed it aside. Emmett pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, forcing his tears to abate and he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

He had no idea how he was ever going to make this up to her.

* * *

Billy did not call Emmett that day, and neither did Mr. Jason Jenks.

Emmett, waiting impatiently for the phone call, had showered and dressed, preparing himself for an outing, but had waited fruitlessly for two more hours, staring at the decidedly dark phone.

By four in the afternoon he could wait no longer, moving between the bed and the chair, prowling the room like a caged beast. He was certain the anticipation would drive him mad, truly mad, and he knew the only cure in that moment was a change of scenery. Taking up his keys, phone, and wallet, he quickly left the hotel room behind, dodging through the crowd of flashing cameras he'd been so stoutly avoiding. Part of him knew it would be worse when he returned, now that he had confirmed the rumours that he was staying there, but he pealed out of the underground parking lot without so much as a backward glance. A few ballsy photographers tried to pursue him through the streets but Emmett, used to driving in Seattle, was able to avoid them.

He had plugged the address into his car's GPS before he could stop himself, and was following the woman's automated directions to the Lake View Cemetery, the place where Marcus, through his online research, had learned Charlie was buried. Emmett tried not to overthink the trip as he was driving; he had not spoken to his father in over a decade—what right did he have to visit him now? He wondered only briefly if his father, from beyond the grave, would still be bitter and angry…

He pulled into the deserted parking lot just before nightfall—there was just enough lasting sunlight for Emmett to find row 21, moving down to the patch of dirt that looked like the most freshly disturbed in the row.

He did not know what he had expected to happen when he decided to come here, but whatever it was it was certainly not this. As he stood, motionless, staring at the plain grey headstone, there was nothing around him but the peaceful chirp of crickets and the calls of nighttime birds in the treetops. If he listened closely, he could hear traffic on nearby roads, and he thought he saw a few other visitors making their way down a distant row.

He stood silent for a long while, staring down at the stone marking his father's final resting place. It was hard to believe that the red-faced, shouting man—Charlie as Emmett had last seen him—was lying so quiet and still under this newly-settled earth. When the sky transformed from pink to blue, and from blue to black with speckled stars, Emmett gingerly lowered himself to the ground, sitting carefully next to the stone. He did not look down at the ground as he moved his hand to rest on the soil, right above where he knew Charlie's head was laying, unseeing, not knowing that his son was so close by.

Only when Emmett was sure he was alone, hovering between the stars and the little solar lights dotting each grave, did he speak.

"I'm sorry."

The world was still.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen." Emmett spoke just above a whisper. "I'm sorry I didn't call, or visit."

Feeling his way up to the grey stone, which he could just barely read in the glow from the blue solar light, he traced the letters with his finger, carefully trying to collect his thoughts.

 _Charles Swan  
_ _April 17, 1960-October 13, 2015  
_ _Loving Father, Devoted Friend_

"I'm sorry we fought." Emmett's voice, even in a whisper, cracked with emotion. Emmett had never expected to feel such pain as he sat in the damp grass, head in his hands, next to the only reminder he had of his father's short life. Their relationship had been so rocky, even before Emmett had left home, and his father had always been so angry…

"You probably can't even hear me," said Emmett, breathing deeply as he glanced up at the sky again. "I suppose I should've brought flowers or something…"

There was no response.

"But if you _can_ hear me," he continued, "please keep her safe."

The stars twinkled.

"I'm sorry I lost her."

The words he wanted to say next words stuck in his throat as if they were reluctant to be voiced, every bit of him regretting that he had not been there to say them while his father still lived. Emmett could not honestly say that he had understood his father in all his brooding humours, with changing temperaments and shifting moods like the passing of storm clouds overhead. Charlie had been an intense man, a very feeling man under all his masks of stoicism and aloofness. It was only now, at thirty years old, that Emmett could find himself in any way relating to those feelings. Charlie, he knew, had loved his children with a depth and passion that could not be matched, though Emmett could not help but resent the ways in which he had showed it. He had been such a willful teenager, such an ungrateful brat that he hadn't even paused to think, to wonder what it must be like for a father to lose his only son in such a sudden, dreadful fit of temper…

As Emmett fought to say the words he knew he ought to, he felt the shame growing in him when he realized that Charlie had died thinking that his child, his only son, had hated him. Emmett had never voiced those cruel words, but his actions—his avoidance and his flaunting of independence and success—had spoken for themselves. He had kept his feelings—his anger, hurt, fear, and betrayal—bottled up and kept away on a shelf, forgotten and abandoned in his rapid rise to fame. Sitting by that graveside as the dark of night crept in, Emmett realized the gravity of what he had done—not to himself, but to his family. Actions speak louder than words, and what he had done spoke volumes.

 _I don't need you. I've never needed you._

But he had never considered, not until now, whether or not _they_ needed _him._

Emmett was not used to feeling vulnerable—he was not used to the rush of sadness, fear, humility, and grief that poured in once he had opened that door.

 _He had never said "I love you", and now it was too late._

"I'm so sorry," he said, and for the first time since his childhood, Emmett felt his walls break down entirely. Tears that had been angrily forced back this past week came flooding out as he wept, broken, bitter sobs of regret echoing through the dark, empty cemetery. He wept for his father, for the words he had never said, and for his sister, who was out on her own in the world, alone and frightened. He wept for the years he had lost, the connections he had so brutally severed when he'd left his father so quickly that day twelve years ago. He cried for his shame, for his unending, irreparable grief knowing that it was his fault, all his fault, that his family had been shattered and scattered to the four winds…

For every _"I'm sorry,"_ and _"I love you,"_ he managed to say, there was nothing but the quiet of the dead and the vastness of the dark, deep, winter sky.

 **A/N: Let me know what you think! You'll get another chapter (as usual) later this weekend.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Bella could barely keep her eyes open as she sat on the hot asphalt, trying her best to keep out of the sun. It was blazing down on her, turning the little alleyway into a hotbox. Bella had thought that the modicum of shade she had managed to find would help, but all it did was give her an uncomfortable place to sit. Bella had been on the run all day, and by the time she had reached the cramped, dirty alley, she was exhausted. She had not eaten since last night and she had nothing to drink. She was sure she was dehydrated, though there wasn't much she could do about it.

She had hidden herself behind some boxes, doing her best to keep unseen. For the first few minutes after she had sat down, she found it easy to ignore the rancid scent of decay emanating from the green dumpster. She had settled just as the sun began to poke over the tops of the buildings and the green metal had not yet had the chance to heat up. She had pulled her father's flannel shirt off of her body, draping it over her head to shield herself from the sun, but as it had crested overhead, her makeshift hat had done her little good. She could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down her back, soaking through the thin tank top and making it stick.

Although she was tired, Bella did not let herself close her eyes. She knew it would have been easy—she could use the shirt as a pillow and some of the old cardboard to create a makeshift shelter. She could curl herself up and let her eyes fall closed, just for a minute, but that minute could prove fatal. What if it was at that moment, when her defences were down, that James showed up, looking for her? What if Laurent, or Felix, or Demitri, or Alec came rounding the corner to seek her out, and they found her lying there? Bella could hardly imagine what would happen then, what she could possibly do to escape a second time.

She could not let them find her.

When nightfall came, Bella could no longer keep herself awake. She had sat there, all day long, staring anxiously at the dirty bricks in front of her. A few people had passed her by—a group of teenagers, no doubt sneaking off someplace they shouldn't, and an older man who paid her no mind. As the day grew longer and the sun climbed higher, Bella had felt the beginnings of sickness; she had always been sensitive to the heat. She had tried, then, to create a little shelter, using what boxes and detritus she could find, and although it was far from ideal, the cardboard did keep the sun away.

As the cooler night set in Bella put her flannel back on and did not let herself think about the fact that she was sleeping on the ground.

* * *

When she woke the next day it was to the sound of sirens blasting past the alleyway. She jolted upright, rubbing her eyes clumsily just in time to see a police cruiser shoot past, lights flashing. As she sat up, stiff and sore, she was confused for a brief moment—where was she? Why was she not in bed?

It did not take her long to remember.

Fighting the panic that welled up inside her, Bella began to collect herself once again. She knew she could not stay here—she could not stay stagnant. She had to keep moving. The sun had not yet risen, and Bella fumbled for her bag. She could not bring herself to move out of the dumpster's shadow, but she managed to pull out a change of clothing from her backpack in the dark. Although she was not certain that she could not be seen, Bella slipped quietly out of her jeans and into her yoga pants, feeling much cleaner and well-kempt the moment she put them on. The shirt was an altogether different matter—the cut on her side, which had stopped bleeding back at the house, had flared up again when she had run off, causing the fabric to stick. Bella did her best not to cry out as she peeled it away, feeling it reopen but unable to help it.

She knew how filthy the garment was but she had little choice; as the cut bled, thick, red droplets sliding down her ribs, Bella pressed the ruined shirt against the gash to staunch it. She cried out as she pushed down, knowing that pressure was essential, and was unable to stop the salty tears from coursing down her face. She knew the cut was not deep—she would not have made it this far if it had been—but that did not stop it from smarting and flaring as her hand shook, taking her breath away. Try as she might, she could not stay as still as she would have liked, and with each trembling shake of her hand, the pilling fabric shifted on the wound. She held it there as long as she could bear it, dropping the shirt to the ground when the pain became too much. She glanced down carefully, squinting through the darkness, seeing the angry gash but no sign of blood drops. She waited a moment, gingerly twisting from side to side to make sure it would not start up again, before she put on her new shirt and rested it carefully over the wound.

She could not help her tears, standing there alone in the dark, smelly alleyway, her side throbbing with each beat of her heart. Though she longed to brush them angrily aside, to cast them out forever, the tears continued to fall, tracing warm, wet trails down her cheeks. She rested against the wall, blinking hard to try and calm herself, but the more she scrunched her face the more she could feel the residual pain from the day before. The tears stung the cut on her swollen, bruised cheek, and when she brought her hand up to wipe them away, she found her right eye almost swollen shut.

 _Just perfect,_ she thought scathingly, gently probing her face. She hissed when she pressed her fingertips to the bruise, wishing more than ever that she had some ice. She knew that when the sun rose and she came across new people they would stare at her now, even more than they had done yesterday. Bella did not know what her face had looked like the day before, but she knew she had been able to see out of both eyes. The more she focused on it the more she realized the extent of the inflammation—every time she bent down she could feel a rush of pressure, and the more she tried to open her eyes the more she came to realize that her right one, no matter how hard she tried, would not open completely.

Bella left the alleyway just as a hint of blue began to creep into the sky, obscuring the stars that were barely visible through the city lights below. As the darkness ebbed Bella stuck to side streets and sketchy alleys, unwilling and afraid to try any main roads. Bella knew that there was a better chance of being seen on a busier street, and she could not bring herself to do it knowing that she was being sought. She knew James would not let her go, and she could not, in good conscience, do anything that might help him find her. Bella had been naïve and stupid once—she was not about to make the same mistake again.

That morning felt cooler than the day before, and Bella was grateful for it. Although she did not have the energy to run as she had yesterday, she forced herself to walk at a steady pace, moving further and further away from all familiar territory. She had no idea where she was headed but with each passing block, she felt herself growing more and more relieved.

She was going to get away.

* * *

When the rain came that night, Bella could have wept with joy. She had walked until her legs had cramped up and she could not go on, collapsing beside the back door of a little coffee shop. Her legs would carry her no further—she had to get some water into her system or else she was sure she would never move again.

When the rain started, Bella laughed and laid back on the ground, mouth open to let fat drops of rainwater fall into it. The rain cooled her and washed away some of the grime from her skin, and when Bella found some unused paper cups that had been thrown away in the trash, she was quick to set them out. The sound of the rain cascading into the bottom of the cups, filling them with cold rainwater, made Bella breathe a sigh of relief—tomorrow, at least, she would have something to drink.

Unlike the rain that had hit her on that final night in her truck, this bout did not let up quickly. Bella sat, sprawled on the concrete, as a cascade of rainwater flowed over her. Her hair, filthy and knotted, was spread out under her, pooling in a puddle of sandy water. She could feel the wetness seeping through her pants, drenching her down to her skin, but she could not bring herself to care. After so long walking and running, frantic to get away, Bella relished in the moment, letting her eyes drift shut.

When she opened them again, it was with a great shiver and chattering teeth. She blinked, clenching her fists as she pushed herself into a sitting position, glancing up at the sky to see the clouds clearing and the moon peeking back out. The puddle she sat in was murky and brown, whether from her own filth or the dirt on the ground, she did not know. The wind, so warm and dry earlier in the day, was crisper now that the sun had retreated, and Bella found herself regretting her choice to bathe in the rain. With each gust, she felt her body tremble, and though the coolness felt good on her sore face, she could not help but wonder whether or not she had made a poor choice.

Bella, squeezing in behind two empty wooden pallets leaning up against the wall of the shop, emptied her backpack and draped her father's dirty flannel shirt over her shoulders. Curling up as tightly as she could, she lay quietly on the ground, unable to stop the trembling.

She rested her sore cheek on the cold, wet concrete, hoping that it would bring the swelling down.

* * *

She lay, drifting in and out of sleep, until the wee hours of the morning when she heard voices coming from the closed back door of the coffee shop. Frantically, she reached out and collected her cups of water, six in total, tucking them securely in her little hiding place. She knew that if someone came outside and looked behind the pallets they would find her, but she did not think that an idle passerby would see her. She felt so tired and stiff that when the door opened and a little woman came outside, it was all Bella could do to keep her eyes open.

The woman stood quietly in the little concrete square for a moment, a frown marring her elfin face. She was a small person—even smaller than Bella, perhaps—though she looked to be a good deal older. Bella pegged her at around thirty, though she could not be sure, and she was definitely not about to come out and ask.

"I've got it here!" came a voice from inside, and the woman swivelled back to the door. "It was under the sink…"

"Good," she said. Her voice matched her face—she had a high, tinkling voice.

"What's up?" said the man, and Bella held her breath as he stepped out. Bella could not see his face from where she lay, and she knew the couple could not see her, but something told her that if she moved, she might be found out.

"Nothing," said the woman, shaking her head. "It's just…"

"What?"

"Just a weird feeling," she said. The man reached over and stroked her arm.

"Ignore me," she said, laughing softly. "I'm being silly. There's nothing out here."

"Not a thing," agreed the man. "Tyler should be in soon. Will he be alright for the morning shift?"

"Oh yeah," said the lady. "He'll be just fine. He's used to it."

"Come inside and check out the new cups," said the man, leading the woman away. "They've got the new logo…" Their voices were cut off when the door slammed shut, a loud metallic _clang_ echoing in their wake.

Bella's sigh of relief was loud and heavy.

* * *

"I swear, there's something not right." Bella woke abruptly to the sound of the woman's voice. She could not raise her head.

"There's nothing there." The man sounded concerned. "Come back inside. It's getting dark."

"But…"

"But nothing," said the man, and Bella heard his boots scuffing near her head. She knew he could not see her—she was still tucked behind the pallets and there was a trash can blocking the opening by her head. Through a gap in the wood, Bella saw his jean-clad legs.

She held her breath.

"I don't know what it is…" said the lady, and Bella heard her clicking shoes stepping closer as well. "I just have a really weird feeling…"

"Well, your feelings are usually on point," admitted the man, "but there's nothing here."

"I know," said the woman, and Bella heard them kiss. "I just…"

"Look," said the man, speaking tenderly. "I'll come by before my shift tomorrow and take a more thorough look. Maybe there's an animal or something."

"In the middle of the city?" asked the woman sceptically.

"Tomorrow," repeated the man. "For now, let's just go home. We're both tired, and you've been on your feet all day."

"Alright," the woman sighed loudly enough for Bella to hear her. Bella waited until she heard the two sets of footsteps retreat before she tried to move again, her head heavy and sore.

She managed to reach over and grab one of her cups of water, bringing it slowly to her cracked lips. The day's sun had warmed it, but Bella didn't mind as she swallowed small sips, trying her best to conserve what little she had left. Her thirst earlier in the day, before she had so recklessly fallen asleep, had caused her to gulp down three cups full, and she had kicked herself afterwards—who knew when the next rainfall would occur? How long would it be before she found another chance to fill them up?

Bella finished half the cup before she set it clumsily next to the others, slopping some out onto the ground. Although she felt the wetness seeping through her thin yoga pants, it did not stop sleep from luring her back into its clutches. Bella barely had time to readjust her position, resting her sore cheek on her backpack, before blackness encroached and she succumbed to her exhaustion.

* * *

Bella knew she was sick. She could feel the unpleasant heaviness in her chest, the gritty itch in her eyes, and the angry, pounding headaches that always plagued her when she was unwell. Each time she moved she could feel her joints protesting, berating her for the abuse they'd suffered over the past few days. No matter how many times she wetted her lips they were more chapped than ever, and her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth. It was all she could do to keep her coughs quiet during the day, especially when she heard the telltale sounds of the worker boy, Tyler, opening the backdoor to bring out the trash.

Bella had laid under the pallets for two nights now, though she had yet to see the woman or her partner again. Bella had been frightened, more frightened than she had been in a long time, when she had heard the man say that he would come back and poke around. If he did that, she was sure he would find her out. Who was this man? Where did he come from? What would he do with her when he found her there?

Bella supposed it had been the second bout of rain, surprising for sunny Los Angeles, that had kept him away. Bella had been only too joyous when the skies had opened up again that night, allowing her to refill her paper cups. From what snippets of conversation she'd overheard from the people in the coffee shop, she understood that they had just received a new shipment of cups with new pictures on them, thus resulting in the disposal of tens, if not hundreds, of old ones. Bella, taking a chance, had briefly poked out of her little hideaway, snatching up all the cups she could reasonably sit out. She had a veritable store of water now, sitting up against the wall of the shop, and she was glad she no longer had to ration it.

The water did not help her, however, even when she downed two cups and rested, eyes clamped shut, on her makeshift pillow. She knew water was vital—without it she would not survive—but it did not quench the dry, lasting thirst in her throat. She knew she was feverish, for with fevers always came vivid dreams and memories. This morning, she had awoken with her father's name on her lips; he had been there, not moments before, holding a glass of ice water to her mouth, urging her to drink…

Bella clamped her eyes shut, knowing that if she let herself get too lost in thought, she would end up a crying, blubbering mess. She did not know what was wrong with her; she was not usually so out-of-control. She supposed it was the stress of her new life—she could no longer bear to think of her father, of her family, without mourning all that she had lost…

Bella clamped a hand on her mouth, biting down hard on her palm to stop any noise as she heard the back door of the shop open, and the telltale whistling of the boy. Bella knew that the boy could not see her—he was far too laidback and relaxed as he tossed a sweet-smelling trash bag into the bin by her head. She was grateful that she had covered the backpack with the flannel—the fluorescent orange would undoubtedly give her away, even to this unobservant boy.

He whistled his way back into the shop, slamming the door loudly behind him, and once Bella heard it click into place, she sat up. Ignoring the rush of her head Bella cracked the trash can open. The smell was not what she was used to—it was not the sour smell of decay and rot. Instead, it was the smell of sugar and vanilla—it made her mouth water.

For a moment, she hesitated. Had she really sunk so low that she would scavenge like an animal from a trash can? Was she really so desperate that she could go through somebody else's waste in hopes of finding herself something edible? Was she really that hungry?

The smell made her stomach growl and she felt a painful cramp. She knew that if she did not eat soon she would surely suffer, so ignoring the humiliating jolt of shame that tore through her, Bella carefully poked a hole in the black bag.

Inside she found a stack of mouth-watering, if not slightly burnt, donuts. She did not know what flavour they were but she did not care, reaching her hand in and pulling one out. It glistened with sticky glaze, oozing down over her fingers, and she gingerly brought her hand to her mouth. The sweetness of it, almost pure sugar, burst on her tongue and it was all she could do not to shove the entire thing in her mouth at once. Her stomach protested, oh did it clench and cramp, but once she took that first bite she could not stop. Beyond glad that she could not be seen, Bella crammed as much of the pastry as she could into her hungry mouth, swallowing the bites nearly whole.

When she finished the first, licking glaze from her fingers, she reached for a second, and then a third. It was just as she had reached the fourth, prepared to shove it gleefully into her mouth, that she felt her body clench up, and her brow broke into a cold sweat. She just managed to scramble out of her hiding spot, falling onto all fours at the foot of her sleeping space, before her body heaved and rejected the food she had forced into it, leaving a sticky mess on the concrete.

Bella rinsed her mouth out with water, shaking and sweating as she laid herself back down, the fourth donut lying forgotten on the ground.

* * *

"Hey." The voice was soft and gentle, but Bella thought she could sense anxiety. "Miss? Hey!"

There was a hand shaking her shoulder and she heard a man curse. Bella struggled to open her eyes, shifting her head carefully to the side. She cracked her eyes open for the briefest moment, catching sight of the worker boy leaning over her, his dark face pulled into a frown. She saw his eyes widen as they shifted down to the sore cheek she'd been resting on the ground.

"Jesus Christ," he hissed, and his warm hand touched her swollen face. Bella could not help it when she cringed, flinching violently away from this strange man's touch. She closed her eyes again, ignoring the boy's frantic voice growing louder.

"Hey, can you hear me?" The boy sounded muffled. "Miss?"

Bella felt the pallets being moved away from her, a cool gust of wind ruffling her hair. She felt the boy touch her again— moving her face away from the hot concrete—and she let her head fall limply onto his open hand. She could hear his frantic breathing, and could feel him brushing tangled hair out of her face as gently as he could manage. He shook her gently then and Bella groaned, feeling the shirt tugging on the bloody cut on her side. She was not sure when it had opened up again, but with each jolt of the boy's arm, Bella felt the fabric pulling angrily at it. Trying to keep as still as she could, she reached her hand up and clamped it on the cut, trying not to cry out at the sting that went through her. Her side felt wet.

Bella could only assume that the boy had caught sight of the blood, for when his voice rang out again there was a definite note of fear it.

"Oh God! Miss Alice!" The boy's voice grew louder. "Miss Alice!"

"What is it, Tyler?" Bella recognized the chiming voice of the woman from the day before. "Is something wrong?"

"Um…"

"Oh my god!" The woman's voice was nearly a shriek as the clicking footsteps drew nearer, and Bella cracked her good eye open.

"Oh sweetheart, can you hear me?" demanded the woman. Little white hands, shaking and uncertain, fluttered over her, as if the woman was afraid to touch her. Bella felt the woman pry her hand away from her side, gasping as she glanced down at the bloody fabric.

Bella blinked, trying to find her voice.

"Tyler, go and lock the front door and flip the sign," said the lady anxiously, shooing the boy away. "Then come back here and help me get her inside."

"No," said Bella, a spark of fear flooding through her. What if James was in there? What if he hit her again? What if…?

"Shh," said the woman, her mouth a tight line. She had very blue eyes, Bella noted, and they were swimming with tears.

"Don't worry," said the lady gently, stroking Bella's hair off of her face. "I don't know who did this, but we'll get you some help, okay?"

"James…"

"James?" asked the lady, eyebrows raised. "Do you want me to call him?"

"No!" Bella's voice was loud, and she forced herself to move. _She could not go back_ …Bella had barely shifted two inches before the lady, looking frightened, soothed her and tried to keep her still.

"Hey, hey, okay," she said. "Here, let me help you."

Bella fell back to the ground, winded by her sudden movement. _What was wrong with her? Had she been drugged again?_

"You're bleeding," said the woman anxiously, taking a scarf from around her neck. Bella felt the her lifting the edge of her shirt, hissing at the sight of the exposed wound, before she pressed her clean scarf to it, holding it firmly. Bella's eyes flew open and she cried out, trying to wiggle away, but unable to move more than a foot before she hit the wall.

"Tyler!" cried the lady, looking back towards the door. "Help me get her inside!"

"Yes ma'am," said the boy, reappearing in the doorway. Bella was surprised at his strength when he knelt down, his face pale and afraid, and picked her up, jostling her only slightly when he carried her over the threshold. Bella was brought through a store room stacked with what looked like packages of coffee and cups, before she was laid carefully on a little sofa in an office.

"Go and call Jasper and tell him to get here right now," said the lady, looking at Tyler once he had put Bella down. The sofa was warm and comfortable, and she felt her eyes closing again…

"No!" The woman spoke suddenly, and Bella felt a hand tapping her good cheek. "Honey, no. Can you tell me your name?"

Bella opened her eyes again and looked up at the lady, her words dying on her tongue. If she told this stranger who she was, would she report back to James? Was James coming for her now, after she had so recklessly mentioned his name? Bella blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from her brain, and did not notice she was crying until the lady plucked a tissue from a pink box on the desk, dabbing Bella's face. Bella tried to sit up but the lady gently urged her back down, smiling tensely as she shook her head.

"Easy, easy," she said as Bella struggled in vain to sit up, unable to fight against the heaviness in her head and the weakness in her muscles. Once she was sure Bella would no longer struggle, the lady pulled a chair closer and stroked Bella's hair. Bella, afraid though she was of this stranger, could not deny that it felt good, and just as her eyes were about to drift closed again, the woman spoke.

"I'm Alice. Can you tell me your name?" she asked, ceasing her movements on Bella's head and taking her hand instead. Bella felt her squeezing grip and could not help but squeeze back—there was something reassuring about the way Alice looked at her.

Bella could not make her tongue work.

"That's okay," said Alice, shaking her head. "We're going to get you some help, okay? I'm going to call you an ambulance…"

"Alice?!" The man's voice sounded frantic, and Bella flinched. Every muscle in her body screamed at her as she tensed, trying to pull herself together. She should never have stopped running…

"Jasper," said Alice, letting go of Bella's hand and standing, throwing open the office door. Bella saw the shaggy blonde hair glinting in the morning light, similar in shade but much different in length from the head she had been watching for. A big part of her rebelled against her fear—this man had not hurt her, this man was not James—but there was some part deep inside of her, something wild and uncontrollable, that reacted.

 _Run, run, run…_

Bella had all but sat up on the sofa, struggling to find her feet when she stopped dead, staring at the newcomer. Alice had jumped over at the sight of her movement, afraid and worried, but when Bella stopped struggling Alice stopped as well, hands held out in midair. Bella, though she was embarrassed to be such a burden to this little stranger, could not look away from the man. He barely had time to open his mouth, his eyes soft and concerned, before she fell back to the sofa, forcing back tears. That wild part of her mind, so recently unhinged and set loose, cried out for action, demanded that she validate the implicit threat of _man_ that stood before her. That part warred with reason, focusing on his tall, muscular body and the unmistakeable glint of his yellow hair, but even more prominent was the familiar blue uniform—the same kind her father had worn for as long as she could remember.

This man was a police officer.

"What happened?" he asked, rushing to Bella's side. Bella saw him assess her with educated eyes, taking stock of the injuries and tears on her face.

"Tyler found her outside," said Alice, and Bella blushed to see her crying. "I don't know how long she's been there…"

Jasper rested a hand on Bella's arm, offering her a small smile when her eyes flashed to his. She wished she could move…

"She's bleeding," said Alice, pointing to her side. "I don't know who did this…" Bella felt Jasper move the scarf carefully from the cut, a grimace crossing his face before he replaced it, holding it with much more force than Alice had. Bella cried out, squirming away from him, but with the gentleness and confidence that only a trained professional could muster, Jasper shushed her and stroked a hand down her hair.

"Call an ambulance," said Jasper, "and get her to a hospital. Someone's roughed her up pretty good, and it looks like she's been knifed."

"Stabbed?" said Alice, holding a phone to her ear. She looked aghast.

"No, just a cut," said Jasper, gently lifting his hand to examine the wound. "But it might need stitches."

When he replaced the scarf on her wound Bella felt sure she would be sick, though the familiar cold sweat and shaking knees never came. She heard Alice on the telephone, giving out an address, and although she wanted nothing more than to jump up and escape this place, Bella could not find it in her to move. Her eyes fell shut and she felt the police officer's hands on her face, tapping her good cheek.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice louder. Bella cracked his eyes open. His face was growing blurry.

"Yes."

"Good," he said. "My name is Jasper. I'm a police officer. Can you tell me who did this?"

Bella felt her eyes burn with tears. Jasper didn't even blink as he procured a tissue and dabbed them away.

"I…"

"It's okay," said Jasper calmly, shaking his head when Bella began to stutter. "It's okay. Just try and relax."

Bella nodded frantically, trying to keep as much composure as she could.

"Help is on the way," said Jasper gently, and Bella could not help but be reminded of her own father using that same tone of voice at the station whenever he saw someone hurt or upset…

"I think she's sick," said Jasper, looking at Alice who clamped a hand over the phone's mouthpiece to listen. "She's red in the face and way too warm…"

"They'll be here in five minutes," said Alice. "I've got Tyler on the lookout…"

"After they take her, I'm calling Rose," said Jasper softly. "She'll know how to help…"

"Honey, is there someone I can call for you?" asked Alice again, coming to kneel by Bella's head. "Jasper, we can't send her alone…"

"I'll go with her," he promised. "I'll need to take her statement anyways…" Bella felt her face crumple and she could not help the ugly, keening cry that escaped her. _What was wrong with her?_

"Oh honey, don't cry!" said Alice, hovering anxiously as Jasper mopped her face. "Is there someone you want me to call?"

Bella could barely see through her streaming eyes, her body sore, but her spirit even more so. She had never before felt the deep ache that she felt now—the longing for a familiar face and comforting arms. When her eyes closed, she saw her father's face in her mind, watching her with the anxious look he always wore when he saw her upset. Bella wondered what he would do now, if he were here to see her—would he be angry with her for being so stupid? Would she find herself on the receiving end of one of his famous lectures, telling her how naïve and childish she had been?

She could hear Jasper, urging her to open her eyes, but Bella could not bring herself to do it. The dark was so much nicer—she could not bear to look into the kind eyes of these strangers who had found her. She was still not completely sure, though reason told her otherwise, that they would not hurt her, that they would not send her back…

"Jasper who do we call?" Alice sounded frantic.

As if by chance, the face burned into Bella's memory morphed and twisted until it transformed into one she had only ever seen in photographs. The nose and chin were the same, but the eyes widened, transforming from brown to blue. The broad forehead shrunk, and her father's bushy eyebrows, so unruly and thick, were tamed. The shoulders broadened and the neck thickened, and the lines that had marked her father's face with age melted away as the face of her brother took shape before her, smiling dimples and glittering eyes looking out with a fondness she had never seen in real life.

Her mouth spoke before she could process what she was saying.

"Emmett."

"What was that, honey?" asked little Alice, leaning closer. Jasper shifted away to give her room. "What did you say?"

"Emmett," said Bella again, though the word was slurred on her tongue. Her head was so heavy, and her eyes were so tired…

"They're here!" cried Tyler. He sounded very far away. "Miss Alice, they're here."

"Step aside, please," came a new voice, and Bella felt two sets of hands on her. One steadied her neck, probing gently at her bruised face while another lifted her shirt, examining her side. Someone's fingers clamped on her wrist, and another put a collar around her neck, though Bella could not imagine why. She felt something slip into her ear, the cacophony of voices making it hard for her to make anything out. She was so tired that she could not open her eyes, even when the tightening of a blood pressure cuff made her arm burn…

"Pulse is quick, temperature high," Bella heard a curt male voice say. The rumble picked up again and Bella heard Alice say the name "Emmett", though she sounded confused and uncertain.

Someone held her hand.

"Go, Jas," Alice's voice was little more than a whisper. "I'll be right behind you, in the car…"

Bella felt herself lifted onto a stretcher, her head immobilized as a blanket was draped over her legs. She heard a man, a strange man, ask for her name, and she could hear Jasper's voice overlapping, quiet in her hear. She did not even try to respond.

"You're safe now," he whispered, his hand on her hair. "We'll figure everything out. You're safe."

Bella could not help falling into the darkness, even as the stranger's words sunk in.

 **A/N: Back to Bella for now. Let me know what you're thinking! I love hearing from everyone!**

 **So many of you were worried I'd let James find her and do God knows what. Did this make you feel a little better? I hope so.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I haven't forgotten about you! Please read the note at the end for an explanation.**

Chapter 11

When Bella woke, it was not with the usual, gradual return to consciousness that came to her each morning. She did not spend that long moment hovering between the real world and the world of dreams, luxuriating in the sense of impending sleep that she knew would not return. She did not lie comfortable and warm on her pillow, taking a moment to stretch her stiff limbs and crack her back. She did not take slow, deep breaths of morning air to clear her head, bringing with it all the freshness and newness of a cool, early spring morning.

It was as if everything came to hit her at once and she jerked awake with a startled gasp, eyes streaming as she blinked against the harsh fluorescent light beaming down on her. Her breaths came in frightened, quick pants and when she glanced down, she saw her clothes were missing. Instead, she was dressed in a thin, overlarge gown—one with which she was intimately familiar. She had been hospitalized many times as a child, always for some injury or other, and she knew better than anyone the look and feel of the standard hospital gown. She could feel a hard knot, tied by God knows who, digging into her back.

She wondered who had undressed her.

"You're awake!" The woman's voice startled her and Bella jumped in surprise. Beside her bed, next to an IV pole, Bella saw the little woman from the coffee shop reading a culinary magazine with a notebook full of writing in front of her. When she saw Bella looking at her, she put down her pen and slid her chair closer, offering a gentle smile. Bella noted that she looked haggard, as if she had been sitting in one spot for a while. Bella couldn't fathom why this could be—surely this woman hadn't been here all the while? Bella's eyes shifted down to the bed again, embarrassed as she tried to adjust herself more snugly under the sheets.

"You're in the hospital," explained the lady, and Bella could not remember her name for the life of her.

"How did I get here?" asked Bella in a cracking voice, trying to clear her throat. "What day is it?"

"You've been here overnight," said the lady. "And it's Thursday."

"Oh." Bella frowned, trying to remember the exact date.

"April 7," said the lady, running her thumb over the back of Bella's hand. "2016." Bella sensed amusement in the woman's voice and she couldn't help but crack a smile, sniffling.

Bella and the woman stared awkwardly at each other for a long moment, the lady's big blue eyes boring into Bella's as if she were searching for something. Bella was not good at prolonged eye contact—she always found it strange and intrusive, but this woman seemed intent.

"Are you alright?" she asked finally, sitting back in her chair. "I was worried you were done for, when Tyler found you…"

"I'm okay," said Bella, flushing. She could not be sure that she spoke the truth, it could very well be a lie, but she would not inflict any more on worry this kind, strange lady. Bella could not be sure, but she was fairly certain that she had done enough already.

"Thanks for…" Bella trailed off, unable to voice exactly what she was thankful for. _Bringing me here? Not calling James? Sitting beside me when you so obviously didn't have to? Not calling the police on me when you found me loitering on your property?_ Bella didn't know.

"Everything, I guess," she finished, shifting awkwardly as she picked at her fingernails. Her right hand was taped up with tubes and needles, and it was hard to move.

"You're welcome," said the lady, and Bella looked away, embarrassed. The lady had tears in her eyes, and Bella could not watch if she was going to cry.

The pair sat in silence for a long moment.

Bella was startled when, after a long moment of what seemed like hesitation, the little lady reached over and took Bella's good hand in her own, squeezing it with a firmness that was shocking for her diminutive size. Bella blinked rapidly, glancing down at their entwined fingers. Bella's hand was rough and dry, and her cuticles were torn and ragged. She felt a flush of embarrassment as she took in the lady's perfectly manicured hands, complete with girlish pink polish that made her little hands look even younger. Bella watched as the lady ran her thumb over the back of her hand, drawing little circles that both soothed and embarrassed her. Bella was not a hand-holder, she never had been even as a small child, but there was something about the way that this woman, so wholesome in her efforts to comfort, did it. The light touch tickled a bit, and Bella shivered, but she could not help the inexplicable tears that sprang to her eyes as she watched the little thumb go round and round her hand. Part of her wanted to pull away, to hide her tears from this stranger, but in that moment it felt so nice to have someone care for her, even just a little bit, that she squeezed back.

Bella could not remember the last time she'd had someone care for her, even in such an innocent way. It had been so long since she'd seen any family, so long since she'd had anyone older than her to perform such a simple gesture of goodwill. No one, not since before Charlie had grown ill, had taken Bella's hand or wrapped her in a hug to tell her that everything would be okay. James has taken her hand, all those weeks ago, to pull her back to his lair, but even then Bella had known that his guiding hand was neither innocent nor helpful. So when this little lady, who Bella did not even know, took it upon herself to perform such a simple act of kindness, Bella couldn't help but feel both infinitely sad, and a terrible, glorious sense of longing. Bella could not meet her eye but in that moment, as the pair sat silent and still in the hospital room, there was no need for talk. There was no cloud of unspoken words, no hint of unvoiced tension or demanding fear that hovered between them. In that moment, there was only the rushing footsteps of nurses, the steady tick of the clock above the bed, and a peaceful, gentle quiet that made Bella shiver.

"My husband is going to want to ask you some questions," said the lady gently, speaking softly into the quiet. "He's a police officer."

Bella glanced over, swallowing hard.

"He's a good man, I promise you." The woman's eyes shifted up to Bella's bruised and swollen face. "He'll want to know…"

Bella took her hand back and looked away. She could not tell anyone who had done this—she could not let James know where she was, and she could not have the police after him. Surely, if she told, he would find her. He would seek her out and learn her real name, and he'd pursue her to the ends of the earth to get back what he had lost. Hadn't she lost him a large sum of money? Hadn't she…? The little lady interrupted Bella's frantic thoughts, forcing her to snap back to attention.

"Well, anyways," she said, a forced smile on her lips. "The nurse should be in soon."

"I'm fine," said Bella, shaking her head. "I was just…"

"Sick," finished the woman, eyeing Bella with a shrewd gaze. "They said you have a lung infection, and you were dehydrated."

"Yeah," said Bella, clearing her throat. "Sounds like me."

The woman laughed.

"Sick a lot, are you?" she asked. "Not your first doctor's visit?"

"No," scoffed Bella, glancing up at the woman. "I'm clumsy."

"Clumsy?" asked the lady, sitting back. Her magazine and notebook were forgotten.

"Lots of injuries," said Bella. "Burns, cuts, scrapes, even broke my leg once, in my junior year."

The lady grimaced.

"So yeah, I know the drill," said Bella. "I know all about hospitals."

"Well, my father is a doctor, so you can say I know a thing or two as well," said the lady, winking. "I spent a lot of time on the other end of things, though I was never a patient."

"Lucky you," said Bella, unable to help liking this strange little woman. She wished she could remember her name.

"The doctor should be in soon," she laughed, shaking her head. "In the mean time, is there anyone I can call for you?"

Unbidden, the ugly memory of her father's face morphing into Emmett's popped into her brain, and she flushed angrily as she recalled, though only dimly, speaking his name on the office sofa.

"No." Bella shook her head. She should have known it was only fantasy, a dear, desperate wish that the woman would not remember the words she'd spoken…

"You mentioned a name before," she said, biting her lip. Bella's eyes welled up and she saw the lady backtrack, looking alarmed. Bella shook her head, blinking hard against the impending tears that fought to escape. She would not cry anymore in front of this strange, kind woman.

"I don't have anyone to call," said Bella quickly, surprised to hear her voice breaking at her lie. "I don't know anyone here."

The harder she blinked, the more insistent the tears were at escaping, and before she could stop it, Bella's face was glazed and wet.

"Hey, you're okay," soothed the lady, grabbing a box of tissues from the bedside to dab at Bella's face. Bella felt like a child, being fussed over like this, but the lady seemed so genuinely kind and eager to help that Bella let her do it.

"I'm sorry I asked," she continued, drying more tears as Bella fought them back. "Forget I said anything. Please don't cry."

Bella couldn't help but cry now that she had started, and it was only with a Herculean effort that she managed to cut them short, biting the inside of her cheek when a deep, manly voice rang out from the hallway.

"Alice?" A figure shadowed the doorway. "Is she awake?"

 _Alice_. That was her name. Alice's face brightened as she turned to look at the doorway, pausing in her ministrations.

"Come in, Jasper," she said. "This is Jasper, my husband." She directed the last part at Bella. Bella sniffled and turned her head to look at the figure in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. He was a tall man, dressed in a familiar police officer's uniform that suited him well. Bella felt an inexplicable jolt of fear when he came through the door, though she extinguished it with a frown, focusing on the blue suit he wore that had always indicated safety. Her father had been dressed in much the same way…

"He's a very nice man," promised Alice, shooting her husband a grin as Bella's frown broke. Alice was standing now, her hand giving Bella's one last squeeze.

"I'll be just outside," she said, lingering at the foot of the bed. "If you need me, just call. Or send him out." She jerked her head at her husband. "He'll come and get me."

Bella nodded, shifting awkwardly on the bed as she tried to sit up.

"Be good, Jasper. Don't freak her out," warned Alice, pointing a pink finger at him as she passed. He only chuckled, letting her run her hand over his arm as she left the room, winking at Bella from the doorway.

Once Alice had closed the door behind her and Bella was left alone with the stranger, she felt the familiar tendrils of fear creeping down her back. Bella watched every move Jasper made as he deliberately pulled Alice's chair closer to the end of the bed, settling in with a little notebook he pulled from his breast pocket.

Bella shivered, unable to stop herself, and Jasper did not let it slide.

"Are you alright? Would you be more comfortable if I went and grabbed a female nurse to sit in?" he asked kindly, and Bella felt her face flush. What was wrong with her?

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I'll be fine."

"It's no trouble, and I'm certainly not offended if you do," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm fine," she repeated again, taking a deep breath to calm herself. She would not look him in the eye.

"If you're sure," said Jasper, rolling Bella's bedside table closer to him so he could write. "I'm here on behalf of the Los Angeles Police Department to take a statement. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," said Bella, nodding quickly.

She fought the urge to mention Charlie.

"Great," he said, his voice never losing the gentle, kind quality it had. "Can you tell me your name?"

Bella shivered.

"Do I have to?" she asked, chancing a glance up at him for the first time. "I mean, can't you just…"

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," said Jasper gently, putting his pen down on the table. "I understand you're afraid, but I can assure you that whatever information you tell me will be treated with the utmost respect."

Bella could not make her tongue speak the words, even though this official-looking police officer was sitting before her, pen at the ready. He watched her for a long moment, his grey eyes unwavering and ever gentle as she picked at a loose threat with her good hand.

"Are you afraid of something?" asked Jasper finally, breaking the silence.

"Yes," Bella admitted, nodding as she sniffed. "I don't want to be found."

"You _have_ been found," said Jasper gently. "By us. We're not going to hurt you."

"No, I know that," said Bella, shaking her head. "It's just…"

Jasper waited, but Bella could not finish.

"I promise you, here and now, that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe," said Jasper lowly. "I don't take my work lightly. My job is to protect people who need it."

Bella stared up at him.

"What if he finds me?" asked Bella, her voice breaking. "What if you _can't_ protect me?"

"No one's that powerful," said Jasper, shaking his head. "I don't know who _he_ is, but I can assure you that he is not powerful enough to…"

"I don't know how powerful he is," said Bella, and she saw Jasper make a note on his page. "I thought I did…"

"Can you tell me your name?" asked Jasper again. "I promise you, you're safe."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," said Bella suddenly, shaking her head. "I wasn't supposed to end up here…"

"I know," said Jasper. "Not very many people intend to end up like this."

"It was supposed to be okay," she said, and she could not stop the words from coming. Her face was wet again.

"It will be okay," said Jasper. "I can assure you, that we have resources in place to help you, should you need them…"

"What resources?" demanded Bella, looking up. "I…"

"This hospital and my precinct are connected with an excellent women's shelter," explained Jasper, tapping his pen on the edge of the table.

"What?" demanded Bella, eyebrows furrowed.

"It's an organization headed by someone very dear to me," he explained. "It was founded a few years back to help women in crisis."

"I'm not in crisis," Bella protested, shaking her head. "I'm…"

Jasper waited patiently, as seemed his habit, for her to finish, but she could come up with nothing more to say.

"You're…?" he prompted, but Bella shook her head.

"I'm not in crisis," she said again, though the words sounded feeble. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Yes, you will be," said Jasper, smiling. "Once the doctor gives you the all clear, they'll have everything prepared for you. Unless, of course, you have someplace else to go once you're discharged?"

Bella shook her head, frowning.

She had nowhere to go.

"Everything will work out," said Jasper.

Bella said nothing.

"Now can you tell me your name?" he asked again. "Date of birth?"

Bella stared intently into those grey eyes, so soft and welcoming even when she was being so difficult and stubborn. She wondered, in that moment, just how many women just like her he had interviewed, just how much pain, horror, and suffering those eyes had seen. Would this man, so fresh-faced and kind, become like her father? Would Jasper, too, despite his apparently endless patience and kindness, turn into the rough-spoken, gruff man that Charlie had been?

Bella wondered how much a person could be subjected to, just how much senseless death, violence, and catastrophe they could see, before they snapped. Is that what had happened to Charlie? Had he snapped, or had he simply been jaded and cynical? Had he…

Bella could not look away from the kind eyes shining out from his handsome face and though she was fearful, positively terrified, she knew she would have to push onwards. She could not stay invisible forever. She could not hide from what had happened, for the simple reason that it _had_ happened. She had fallen harder than she ever had before, and now, with the help of this stranger, it was time to pick herself back up.

 _It was time to be brave._

"My name is Isabella Swan, and I was born on September 13, 1993."

Jasper beamed at her, and began taking notes.

* * *

Bella sat in the back of the squad car, behind the metal bars that separated her from Jasper in the driver's seat, squinting out at the new neighbourhood she was driving through. The day had grown shorter and shorter as she'd waited, impatient, for the doctor to release her from his care at the hospital, sending her away with a prescription antibiotic and strict orders to mind her diet. She was underweight and he did not like it, and Bella had been sternly warned that she would be weighed and measured again at her next appointment.

Bella did not have the heart to tell him that there would be no next appointment, as she was sure the hefty hospital bill from this visit alone would put her even further into debt.

"It's not fancy on the outside," said Jasper suddenly, glancing back to Bella in the back.

"Where is it?" she asked. Jasper and Alice had been her knights in shining armour ever since he had interviewed her. He and Alice had checked in on her every day for the next three days, even though Bella had expected them to bolt after she was declared stable and relatively healthy. She had not expected the two to show up, sometimes early in the morning and other times at night, with bags of goodies from Alice's bakeshop and cups of steaming coffee and espresso.

She did not know how to handle it when Alice had come that same morning with some bags from the local department store stuffed to the gills with everything Bella would need—a change of clothes, deodorant, toothbrush, soap…

Bella had never been more grateful for anything in her life.

"Not far from here," said Jasper, watching her in the rear view mirror. "They keep it low key so that people don't come flocking."

"You mean so Johns can't find their girls," said Bella darkly, frowning as she ducked her head.

"Yeah," said Jasper, sighing as he met her gaze with shrewd eyes. "That about sums it up."

Bella did not know how she felt about her impending arrival at the women's shelter. Jasper had assured her that all the arrangements had been made—he had spoken with his contact, whoever that was, and Bella would be welcomed and settled when she got in.

"How many women live here?" asked Bella, fidgeting as Jasper took another turn. Outside, Bella saw a flock of people, teenagers by the look of them, laughing and joking as they exited a convenience store. Bella's heart ached for the days when she, too, was a carefree teenager, with nothing more than grades and spring dances to worry about…

"About twenty, give or take," said Jasper, turning yet again. Bella was glad the car had tinted windows. She was so eager to observe everyone around her, carefully scanning for any familiar faces, and was glad when she came up empty. Bella did not know it before, but there was a certain power that came with being able to watch without being seen.

"They're set up for twenty five," continued Jasper, "but Rose says they're not at full capacity right now."

"Rose?" asked Bella, turning away from the window.

"She runs it," said Jasper, smiling. "You'll meet her when we get there."

"Is she nice?"

"She's very kindhearted," said Jasper, hedging for only a second. "She's a strong personality, but she's not unkind."

Bella did not know what he meant by that and she felt butterflies starting up again. As she had numerous times over the past few days, Bella felt a violent urge to run, to escape back to her hometown and rediscover the old life she'd so rashly left behind…

 _You have no choice,_ she reminded herself. _You have nowhere else to go._ She wanted nothing more than for Jasper to keep driving and only stop the car when they reached her old house in Seattle. She wanted to be able to get out on the wet grass and walk up the creaky steps, to go up to her bedroom with her old bed and walls filled with photographs. She wanted to close her eyes and take a deep breath, delighting in the scent of _home_ , while her father worked downstairs, trying to whip up something edible for dinner. She wanted to be six years old again, playing with Lego or puzzles in her bedroom, listening to her teenage brother's rock music from the room next door…

But that was never going to happen and she bit her lip, unwilling to cry in front of whatever strangers Jasper was about to leave her with. She would not cry. She would _not_ …

"There's some tissues in the pocket on the back of the seat," said Jasper quietly, observing her as he drove down street after street. Bella, angry and frustrated with herself, fished them out, wiping angrily at her splotchy face as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the flow.

"You'll be alright, you know," said Jasper gently, watching as Bella tried to regain some control. "I know this isn't ideal, but Rose can help you and you'll have someplace to stay. You won't be put in a situation like you were last time."

Jasper had explained to Bella, after she'd spilled her story to him in the hospital, that she'd fallen victim to one of the oldest tricks in the book—James had used her fears against her, had used her loneliness and isolation to get her to come with him. Jasper and the hospital social worker, a prim, sterile woman that Bella had immediately disliked, had explained how men like James preyed on women like Bella, and how good it was that she had escaped when she'd had the chance.

Bella knew, beyond a doubt, that Jasper had filed a report detailing the whole thing, and there would soon be an investigation into James' activity, if one hadn't already started.

" _We don't take these claims lightly, Miss Bella,"_ Jasper had said. _"Men like him are the reason I do what I do."_

"Here we are," said Jasper, pulling to a stop behind a three-story, grey-bricked building with nothing more than a small sign hanging on a windowless door.

Invictus Women's Center  
818-555-0694

Jasper waited for Bella to unbuckle herself from the car before he let himself out, moving to the passenger's side to open her door. A rush of warm air wafted in, the air conditioned car growing muggy and hot almost instantaneously. Bella broke out in a sweat the moment she stepped outside, and it was with her arms wrapped self-consciously around her body and her head ducked down that she let Jasper lead her towards the door, slipping inside what looked like a waiting room.

There were no other women that Bella could see—just Jasper and herself.

"Wait here," said Jasper, urging Bella into a chair. "I'm going to find the receptionist." Bella sat stiffly on the leather seat, glancing anxiously towards the closed door. What if someone had seen her come inside? What if someone had followed them here? What if someone came through the door while Jasper was gone, and they forced her to leave? How would she escape a second time? How would she ever find it in her to break free once again…

"Bella?" Jasper's voice rang out and Bella jumped, wheeling away from the door to face the two people standing by the desk. Jasper had his arm around a tall, blonde woman who looked like she had just stepped off of a runway. Bella did not think she had ever seen someone as beautiful as this newcomer, who was surveying mousy, little Bella with a smiling, gentle face. When Bella finally looked up, conquering her immediate feeling of inadequacy, she was startled by the sense of familiarity—the woman's grey eyes, so wide and open, looked eerily similar to Jasper's.

"This is Rosalie," said Jasper, letting go of the woman when she reached a hand out. Bella shook it carefully.

"Nice to meet you, Bella. Call me Rose, please. Do you want to come on back?"

"Um…" Bella stared at the woman as she stepped aside, gesturing for Bella to follow. Bella took a few steps beyond the desk, looking back at the waiting room.

"We're just going into my office," said Rose quickly, stopping when Bella did. "It's just back here. We've got some paperwork to file and then we'll get you all settled in."

"Thanks," said Bella, though once again she could not say exactly what she was thankful for. Like Alice, this new woman gave off vibes of true kindness and Bella was not exactly sure what to do with it.

"Come have a seat," she said. "Jasper can come too."

"How do you two know each other?" asked Bella, sitting carefully in the hard, wooden chair across from Rosalie's desk. The room was snug and cute—Bella could not help but admire the shelf of books, all about women's issues, adorning the far wall, and the floral canvas prints she had hung beside the window.

"Jasper and I?" asked Rose, eyes twinkling. "He's my big brother."

Bella glanced between the two, settling on Jasper.

"I told you I had a connection," said Jasper, smiling. "Rosie owes me one."

"I do not," laughed Rose. "If anything, you owe me…"

"Well, regardless," said Jasper, "my connections work. And so here we are."

Rose smiled and winked at Bella, who had gone red in the face at their banter, and turned to her computer.

When Bella had given Rosalie all the vital information she could—everything from her name to her hometown, her schooling and her resume—Rosalie grabbed a keyring from a drawer and led Bella out of the office.

"I'm afraid this is where Jas leaves us," said Rose, leading Bella to an unassuming door at the end of the hallway. Bella saw a staircase through the small window.

"Oh," she said, turning to face the officer she'd grown to admire. "Why?"

"No men upstairs," said Rose, smiling. "One of our best kept rules."

Bella grimaced, knowing just why that rule was in place.

"You'll do well here, Miss Bella," said Jasper, smiling. "Rose will take good care of you."

"Thanks for everything," said Bella, reaching out to shake his hand. "For finding me, and taking me to the hospital, and this, and…" Bella trailed off. "For everything, I guess."

"You're more than welcome," laughed Jasper, shaking his head. "I'll let Alice know you're settling in."

"Say thanks to her too, would you?" asked Bella as she moved through the doorway. "She's been so nice to me."

"I'll tell her," said Jasper. "Let us both know how you're coming on once you're settled in."

"Okay."

"Rose has our number," he said, glancing carefully at his sister. "She'll tell you where to find us."

"Thanks Jasper."

"Anytime, darling."

Rosalie laughed.

"Come on up," she said, leading Bella away from the door as Jasper waved. "We've got your room all set up."

"My room?" asked Bella, taken aback. "I thought I'd be sharing…" Rose smiled at her, patting her on the arm.

"All singles here," she said. "We believe it's important for everyone to have their own personal space. I try to do the best I can for all my girls."

Rosalie led Bella up two flights of stairs before she opened the door to the third floor, leading Bella out onto a large landing with a hallway on either side. Though the sky outside was dark and dotted with city lights, Bella could make out the couches and armchairs that made up the common room. There was a television mounted on the wall, and a pile of DVDs stacked underneath. She could make out an air hockey table in the far corner and to her great delight, two shelves full of books that were just begging for her attention.

"All of this is free to use," said Rosalie, taking in Bella's wide eyes. Bella chastised herself quietly, knowing that she was acting like a complete and total fool. Bella knew that Rosalie, observing her, would think that Bella had never seen a couch, or a novel before, but in that moment, she felt like a woman reborn. She had not let herself miss the simple pleasures of her life before—the privilege of sleeping in a safe, quiet room, or the smell of a paperback book when you cracked it open for the first time. It had been so long since Bella had been able to relax, to truly let herself sink into a soft, cushy sofa without the fear of violence or loneliness.

"I think the girls have come to an agreement that 11 is lights out," said Rose. The clock on the wall read 11:20. "You're free to use any facilities on either floor. Second floor has the kitchen. Do you like to cook?"

"Yes," said Bella, wiping tears away. She had cried so much today and had fought so hard against it, that she did not even bother trying to stop it this time.

"We stock it with common food every week," said Rose. "Anyone can eat that. And once you start work, you'll be able to buy anything you want for yourself. Of course, meals will be served regularly in the mess hall downstairs. You're on your own for lunch, but breakfast and dinner are provided daily."

"Work?" asked Bella, looking up. Rose smiled at her.

"We try and encourage every woman who comes through to be her best self," said Rose. "For most of us, that means working. No one's going to force you."

"No, I want to," said Bella, shaking her head. "That was supposed to be the plan."

Rose simply smiled.

"Tomorrow, we'll meet in the morning to talk about what you want to do while you're here," said Rose. "Each of us has a list of goals, some long term and some short, and my job is to do my best to help you achieve those goals."

Bella stared at her.

"Come on," she laughed. "Jasper told me you've got some medication to take and you must be exhausted. Trust me when I say that I know how uncomfortable hospital beds are."

Bella did not dare ask how she knew.

"This will be your room," said Rosalie, opening a locked door with the key from her pocket. Once the door was open, she handed the ring to Bella, who held it gingerly in her hand.

"The only other copy of that is kept in my safe downstairs. We can go over it in more depth tomorrow, but the only reason we would open your door is in case of emergency or if there is suspected contraband. My house has a strict no drugs policy. We're also a sober house. Some of the women here are trying to overcome addiction, and we like to do our best to foster that."

"Sure," said Bella, stepping gingerly inside. She did not miss how Rosalie waited in the hallway, only reaching her hand in to flick on the light.

"The lock is a deadbolt," she continued, pointing to the lock in the door. "No one's going to get in unless you want them to."

Bella said nothing as she looked around the small, but not ugly, bedroom. There was a little twin bed tucked neatly in the corner, with a bookshelf headboard and an old-fashioned alarm clock on top, ticking away. The bed was made with a cozy-looking blue quilt, and two plush pillows were laying on top of each other at the head. At the foot, Bella saw a folded blanket, for extra warmth, should she need it.

"Everything you need should be in here," said Rose, watching Bella carefully as she took stock of the room. "I know Alice grabbed you some things, but if you look in the top drawer of the dresser, there's a care package. All of our women get one."

Bella peeked inside and saw a big Ziploc bag filled with small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, floss, a hairbrush…

"Thanks," said Bella, resting her hand on the chair tucked in at the desk. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," said Rose. "This is what I'm here for. I founded this place to try and help, and I hope I'll be able to help you too. This place only exists for your benefit, and I'm so happy you've come to us."

" _You're_ happy?" asked Bella, taken aback. "Why are _you_ happy?"

"Because if you're here, it means you aren't out there," said Rose gently, gesturing to the window that overlooked the street below. Bella glanced out.

"And if you're in here," she continued, "you're safe. All women deserve the right to feel safe, and all girls deserve to have the chance to make something of themselves."

Bella smiled at her.

"Did you notice the name on the sign outside?" The question came out in a rush, and Bella met her intense gaze with startled eyes. She put the care package back in the drawer before she turned away, frowning at the carpeted floor. She tested the name on her tongue.

"Invictus?" Bella thought the name sounded strange.

"Yes. Yes, _Invictus,_ " laughed Rose, taking in her confusion. "Do you know what it means?"

"No," said Bella, shaking her head. "I don't."

Rose smiled.

"Look it up, if you're curious. I know you'll find it someplace on the bookshelf in the common area. William Ernest Henley is the poet."

"What poet?"

"You'll find out tomorrow," she said, winking as Bella frowned. "It'll be something for you to look forward to."

Bella stared at her.

"Your night clothes are in the third drawer," said Rose, as if she hadn't just presented Bella with a strange riddle.

"No, wait," said Bella, shaking her head. "What does it mean? Invictus?"

Rose grinned mischievously.

"Call it my philosophy," she said, her voice low and amused. "You're a smart girl, Bella. You'll understand when you read it."

Bella sighed, turning to take the clothes out of the third drawer, but her interest was piqued.

"There's no official wake up time," continued Rose gently, stepping even further from the door. "Bathroom is down the hall, last door on the end. There are towels and such in the cupboards inside. Shower stalls are behind the back wall, you'll see the doorway."

"Thanks." Bella wished she was not so tired—a shower sounded delightful.

"Laundry days are assigned by block," she said. "This block washes on Wednesdays. There's a basket in your wardrobe for dirty clothes. I'll show you the laundry facilities tomorrow, once you've had some sleep. You look worn out."

Bella took her prescription bottle and put it down on the desk, nodding.

"There's a water cooler in the common space, and some little paper cups there if you need them. Have yourself a good night. I'll be back in around 7, so just come and find me when you're up."

"Thanks, Rose," said Bella, trying her best to infuse her voice with as much genuine kindness and appreciation as she could. Bella thought it might have worked, since Rose left with another smile.

"Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight."

When Rosalie closed the door behind her, leaving Bella alone in the little bedroom, Bella barely had the energy to dry-swallow her antibiotic and change into pyjamas before she slipped beneath the quilt and for the first time in months, slept without dreams.

 **A/N: Sorry about the late update everyone! I've explained it to a few of you already (those who asked or commented), but this month is the last month of my undergraduate degree, and assignments are a little crazy right now. I got caught with a bunch of essays and assignments that snuck up on me, and I couldn't find time to get my chapter finalized!**

 **For the next few weeks, we might have to cut down to one chapter per week (just until all of this school business is done). If I have the time, I'll get another chapter out this weekend to make up for lost time, but after this I'm going down to one chapter weekly until all of my assignments are done.**

 **Let me know what you think of this one! I love hearing from you!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Bella stood with her forehead against the closed door of her little room, fighting against the nerves that were eating away at her. She could hear the other women, some of whom had been up for hours, puttering around, talking, laughing…

For whatever reason, she was finding it very difficult to walk out of that room where she knew the other women would look and stare. Bella had not anticipated this new anxiety, the fear of being looked at and judged that had so conveniently abandoned her during her flight to safety. Bella supposed that was the trouble with finding herself a safe space—she was able to tamp down her fear of being found out, or her fear of hunger and cold, but once those worries were taken care of a new one was bound to pop up. Bella couldn't help but wonder if these women, some of whom were bound to be friendly with each other, would dislike her.

Bella was never good at making friends.

"Anyone see the new girl yet?" A woman's voice, almost directly outside her door, chirped out loudly, making Bella jump. "You think she's still sleeping?"

"Dunno," came another. "I heard Rose bring her up around midnight."

"You think I should knock?" Bella's stomach clenched.

"Nah, leave her be, Kit. I'm sure she's tired."

"Or scared."

"You won't be hanging with her today anyways," said the second woman. "You know how Rose is with newbies."

"Won't hurt to introduce myself."

"Leave it."

"But…"

"Oh, for God's sake." Bella heard a series of quick footsteps, growing louder and louder in the ear she had pressed against the door, and she stepped back just in time to hear the three loud knocks that rang out.

"New girl?" The woman sounded annoyed. "Hey! Newbie!"

Heart pounding and face flushed, Bella scrambled to open the lock, cracking the door open. She peeked out from behind it, looking up at a short-haired, blonde woman with an armful of tattoos.

"Sorry," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I'm Tanya. Call me T. This brat," she dragged another woman forward by the sleeve, "wouldn't leave you alone until she introduced herself."

Bella stared as the younger woman, beaming, put out a hand.

"I'm Katherine," said the girl, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Kitty. Welcome to Invictus."

"Thanks," said Bella, stepping carefully around the door. She had her change of clothes clutched in her arms.

"Shower?" asked Kitty, ignoring T when she rolled her eyes and stalked away. "Right this way!"

Bella didn't miss the way Kitty stared at her swollen face, taking in the black eye and split lip.

"You met Rose already?" asked Kitty. "She's so awesome, isn't she? I mean…"

Kitty rambled on as she led Bella to the bathroom Rose had pointed her to the night before. Bella could not help but smile as Kitty bombarded her with questions, never leaving her space to actually answer. Normally, Bella would be annoyed by this incessant, chatty type, but as confused and disoriented as she was, it was nice to have some company that did not expect her to hold up her end.

"Pick a stall, any stall," said Kitty, waving her hands dramatically towards a row of five shower stalls, each with a curtain for privacy. Bella slipped into the first, surprised at how clean she found it, and turned on the water.

There were no words to describe the blissful rush that soared through her as the warm cascade of water billowed down, steam rising in thick plumes to the ceiling. Bella could hear Kitty talking, about what she did not know, but she didn't mind one bit as she stood, face in the spray and arms outstretched.

"You okay in there?" Kitty's voice broke through. "Didn't drown, did you? You're awfully quiet."

"Sorry," Bella croaked, moving her face away from the water. "It's just nice…"

"Oh I know," said Kitty as Bella squeezed some shampoo into her hand. "I remember my first shower here. It was so warm, but you won't _believe_ what I found in my stall…"

Kitty did not stop talking the entire time Bella was in the shower, luxuriating in the warm water and clean scent of soap. Bella could not help but run the washcloth over every inch of her skin over and over again until she was pink and shiny. The razor she had found in the care package was not of the same caliber as she was used to, but it did the trick. Only when she was steamed half to death, hairless, and impeccably, undeniably clean, did she pull herself away from the stall with a towel wrapped around her, dripping onto the tile floor.

"Change rooms," said Kitty, halting in her story about the breakfast they'd served on her first day, "are over there."

Bella glanced over to where her finger was pointed and smiled her thanks, grabbing up her bundle of clothes and stepping into the little room. Bella used the fluffy towel to dry herself off, running it through her hair so she would not dampen her new t-shirt. Bella fairly tore the cardboard packaging from the brand new paddle brush before she pulled it through her hair, relishing the sting when she pulled through knots.

"I don't think I'll be able to keep you long," said Kitty as Bella, newly dressed and detangled, slipped out of the change room. Kitty took the towel from her and tossed it into a laundry basket. "Rosalie's going to want you to herself today."

"Why?" asked Bella, clearing her throat. Kitty beamed.

"She always spends the first day with the newcomers," she said. "She doesn't like you to be overwhelmed, and she likes to get all of your appointments set up as soon as possible."

"Appointments?" asked Bella, frowning. "What appointments?"

"Doctor, dentist, stuff like that," shrugged Kitty. "Anything you need, really. She won't make you do it but she'll sure as hell try and convince you."

Bella said nothing.

"Ah! There you are!" Rose's kind voice rang out as Bella and her new friend slipped out of the bathroom, Kitty beaming and Bella starting.

"Told you," said Kitty, patting Bella on the shoulder. She smiled as Kitty winked, slipping past Rose with a grin and leaving Bella to shuffle awkwardly in the hallway.

"If you're amenable, I'd like you to come with me for a bit," said Rose. "I've got you some breakfast in my office, since you missed it earlier."

"Thanks," said Bella, her stomach rumbling. "I really appreciate it."

Rose smiled and led her downstairs.

* * *

Emmett sat against the headboard of the large, king-sized bed in the dark hotel room on the thirteenth floor of the Four Seasons Hotel. The television was on, volume low, and its glow cast his guests in silhouette. Ben Cheney, who he had just met that evening, sat tall and stately in a hard wooden chair and Angela, little Angela who he hadn't seen in years, was curled up on the small sofa, biting her fingernails. Emmett could just barely remember this tendency from her youth, whenever she and Bella would sneak down after lights out to watch scary movies on late-night television channels.

Emmett wondered briefly if his father had known about that.

"What time is it?" asked Angela, turning to her fiancé as another commercial break came on.

"Almost ten," said Ben, checking his phone. "It should start soon."

Three days ago, Emmett had sat, stiff and uncomfortable in a folding prop chair, a makeup artist dabbing powder on his face while technicians fiddled with stage lights. His interviewer, a tall, blonde woman with gleaming white teeth and perfectly done makeup was staring at him, starry-eyed, as they worked.

" _I just can't believe you're here with us,"_ she kept saying. _"We never get big stars."_

" _Well, here I am,"_ Emmett had said wryly. _"In the flesh."_

" _I just can't believe it…"_

And so forth.

"You think this is going to help?" asked Angela, anxiety seeping into her voice as she glanced over to Ben again, who shrugged. Ever since dinner, she had been pointedly avoiding Emmett's gaze.

"Can't hurt, that's for sure," said Ben. "It'll get her face out there at least."

The irritatingly familiar soundtrack to _eTalk_ came on the television and Emmett was quick to grab up the remote, turning the volume up so he could hear. Angela and Ben both fell silent, each pair of eyes glued to the television screen as the host, a woman Emmett had worked with a few times in his film career, came on, smiling.

"Welcome to _eTalk!"_ Emmett's heart was hammering. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, listening mindlessly to the familiar banalities that made up the opening sequences of most talk shows. He should have known better than to expect his interview to be the first thing they covered—that would be too easy. Emmett knew, despite his hopes, that this interview was a rarity in the entertainment community, and that they'd dug deep into their pockets for exclusive access. He should have known it was asking too much for them to cover it first, or at the very least not to leave it until the end, but the logical side of him knew that by holding off, they would ensure that their viewership remained interested until the end of the program.

Angela began to tap her foot as the announcer went on about the best and worst dressed at some red carpet event that Emmett was not interested in. Emmett let out a deep sigh as the three of them waited, each tense and on edge, for the only part of the show that was relevant to them.

The trio, neither speaking nor looking away from the television, waited almost forty minutes through commentary after commentary, advertisement after advertisement. Each time the show went to commercial break there was a hint of the segment to come—a mention of an"exclusive, breaking interview with a well-known celebrity".

Emmett's mind began to wander, as it was so apt to do nowadays, until he heard the woman speak the words he'd been anticipating for three days.

"Now, to our exclusive feature." The woman spoke in low, strangely saddened tones. Emmett's heart raced. He had never before in his life been so invested in an interview going well. Usually Marcus was the one sitting as he was now, tense and determined that his superstar, his one biggest asset, was secure. But not today—today, that was Emmett's job.

"We go now to Seattle, where Emmett Swan gave _eTalk's_ satellite studio his exclusive interview."

The screen darkened for only a brief moment before the other woman, the star-struck interviewer from three days hence, appeared on the screen, looking downcast. Emmett recognized the set at once and his stomach, as it always did when he saw himself on television, gave a little jolt.

"Now Emmett," began the woman. "I understand you're here to talk to us today about an important, very sensitive matter."

"That's right." Emmett always found his own voice strange when he heard it through a speaker. "I'm here about a, uh, _personal_ matter."

"So contrary to reports, this interview does not pertain to your current filming project or the highly anticipated sequel you've been working on?"

"No ma'am. I'm here to ask for the public's help."

Emmett, Angela, and Ben watched the whole sad spectacle in somber silence, each of them glued to the screen as Emmett's voice spoke out about what he had discovered here in Washington, and what he was hoping would come out of it. The photograph that Mr. Ferguson had given him—teenage Bella standing in front of her rusted truck—flashed across the screen with a hotline number for the missing person's department of the Seattle Police force.

Emmett cringed as the blatant edits and voice-overs that were so commonplace with televised interviews turned his impassioned plea for help into a saccharine mix of family sorrow and drama. The Emmett on screen, contrary to the Emmett that had sat for the interview, waxed nostalgic about a sister he barely knew. As the interview went on, Emmett chanced a glance at Angela, who had been stonily silent most of the evening, and found her teary-eyed and frowning, with her own eyes glued to the screen.

By the time the entire segment had aired and _eTalk_ finished with its end credits and music, Emmett could look at neither Ben nor Angela. The interview, while completed with the predictable, unsurprising dramatics that he'd come to expect from tabloids, had this time made him embarrassed—he could only hope that the public would be moved by the sentiment the studio had tried to inject.

"Well, that was something," said Ben, leaning back in his seat. Angela dabbed her face with a tissue.

"Yeah, we'll see what happens," said Emmett, rubbing his face. Angela turned to stare at him. It was the first time she had met his eye all evening.

"I cannot believe this is even _happening,"_ she burst out, shaking her head. "I can't believe…"

Emmett waited and Ben sighed, standing so he could go and sit next to her.

"Can't believe what, babe?" he prompted gently. Emmett's throat felt tight.

"I can't believe she wouldn't come to _me_ ," said Angela finally, sniffling. "Or mom and dad. We would have helped her. We all would have."

"Ah," said Ben, trying his best to keep a neutral face. "You told me so yourself—she's a stubborn one."

"But she's not stupid!" said Angela, shaking her head. "She's always been the smart one!"

"She'll be fine," said Emmett, though he himself did not entirely believe these words. "I won't rest until I've found her and made sure she's safe."

Angela turned to face him, eyes flashing.

"What?" Her voice was deadly calm. Emmett was taken aback by the abject fury brewing in her eyes— something that had not been there all day. She and Ben had arrived just this morning from Chicago and after saying a quick hello to Mr. and Mrs. Weber, Angela had insisted that Ben drive down to the hotel so she could speak with Emmett. Emmett had been courteous and kind, taking the pair out for dinner in the hotel restaurant as he brought them up to date on what was being done to locate his sister. He had even let Angela look through the pile of sealed envelopes he kept on the table like an effigy. Until now, Angela had kept a kind of stoic politeness in her voice and mannerisms—she had been every bit the little preacher's daughter Emmett remembered. This new attitude about her was startling—Emmett did not know what could have possibly changed.

"I mean…" Emmett faltered under her angry gaze, unsure what he had done to anger her. Angela did not let him finish.

"You don't even know where she is," she snapped, rising to her feet. _"You,_ who haven't even been _around_ in over ten years…"

"Ange…" Ben's warning voice and a gentle hand on her arm did not stop her. Angela shook him off with an angry jerk and stepped up to the side of the bed, her face blotchy and eyes red.

"If _anything_ ," said Angela, pointing a shaking finger in Emmett's face, "has happened to her, I swear to _God_ …"

Emmett rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Normally, the pride and righteous anger that was so quick to rise up in him would be piqued by such threats, but deep down he knew he deserved every bit of contempt Angela could throw at him. It was about time someone did—if Charlie had been here to see what had happened to his little girl, if he could see the sorry state of his family, he would have put Emmett in the ground by now.

"She's my only family," said Emmett, his voice rough. "I promise you, even if she wants nothing to do with me, I'm going to make sure she's safe."

Angela barked out a humourless laugh.

"You're _dreaming_ if you think she'll turn you away, even though she'd be well within her rights," she said, and Emmett thought he could hear a bit of jealousy in her voice. "She might be angry—hell, she might be _furious_ —but all she's ever wanted was for someone to love her."

"My dad…"

"Charlie was his own man," Angela interrupted, her voice shaking. "He was a good man, but he wasn't…"

Ben let go of the sleeve he'd been holding on Angela's sweater, seeming reasonably sure that she wouldn't pounce.

"I know," sighed Emmett, running his hand through his hair. "But he loved her."

"In his own way," said Angela, her shoulders sagging. "He loved her in the only way he knew how."

Emmett looked up at her, meeting her gaze for a long moment. Every time he looked at her, all he could see was the shy little girl that had been Bella's best friend, her only real friend in the world. Looking at her now, all grown up, was bringing him back to the day when he'd left Bella, when he'd left his family. She had been so young, so little…

Would Bella have changed as much as Angela Weber had?

"Your father's kind of love was never enough for her," continued Angela, shaking her head. "It couldn't be enough for anybody. She loved Charlie ten times more than he could ever love her—when your mom left it broke him. Bella always said he was scared…"

Emmett could not hold her gaze.

"All she ever wanted was _you!"_ Angela's voice grew in volume as she stood before him, shaking and terrible in her rage. "You don't even _know_ how it was after you left!"

"So tell me," said Emmett, his voice breaking.

"You…" Angela struggled for words. "She…"

The bed sank as Angela sat down beside him, trying to control her voice.

"All she ever wanted was a family. A _real_ family," said Angela, her voice small and meek again. Emmett felt a wave of guilt wash over him, so familiar to him now. He almost thought he would prefer Angela's shouting. At least when she shouted at him, there was a small part of himself that could feel angry in return. But this—this dreadfully tearful little voice made him grieve all over again for the hurt and pain he had caused.

"When you left, Charlie…" Angela shook her head and Emmett fixed his gaze on the carpet. "He went berserk."

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning. "He didn't…"

"No, he never hurt her," said Angela quickly, anticipating Emmett's concern. Ben remained stoic and silent on the sofa. "But he was stricter with her than he had ever been with you."

Emmett waited.

"With your mom gone, and you gone, he did everything he could to make sure that Bella wouldn't leave too. I'm almost positive that's why she didn't go to college—she got more acceptance letters than I did. That girl got into Yale, did you know that?"

Emmett hadn't known.

"After you left, Charlie kept her under lock and key. No sleepovers unless they were at her place, and even then only with me. No boys. No clubs or school activities. She had to be in the house by supper time or he'd have his squad car out looking for her. Once she learned how to drive he wouldn't let her leave the neighbourhood. You can't even imagine the screaming match they had when she went and got that job at Newton's Diner…"

Emmett shook his head, choosing his words carefully.

"Charlie was always…"

"No, he wasn't," interrupted Angela. "You never saw anything close to the way he was with her. He was _good_ with you, for the most part…"

"He threw me out of his house, if you'll recall," said Emmett, unable to keep a note of derision out of his voice.

"Yeah," said Angela bitterly, "and Bella's the one who _really_ suffered for it."

"You have _no_ idea…" began Emmett, halting when Angela's head snapped up. If she had been in the process of calming down she certainly wasn't anymore, and Emmett thought that she might slap him.

"No idea what?" she demanded. "What, Emmett?! How you were so _sadly_ thrown out and went on to Hollywood to make your millions? How while you were making your own life away from your family, your sister cried herself to sleep for months!?"

Emmett shook his head.

"I'm not trying…"

"I don't _care_ what you're trying to do!" shouted Angela. "All I know is this—Bella needed you, she _begged_ for you to come home, and you just _left_ her there!"

"I never heard from her..."

"And guess who was there to pick her back up again!?" continued Angela, her ire bubbling over. "Me! Me and _my_ family took her in and now…"

"Angela," said Ben sternly, reaching his hand out to her. "Don't."

"No, I will!" she said, indignant, rounding on him instead. "He deserves to hear it!"

"She's _his_ sister," said Ben softly. "We talked about this…" Angela ignored him and wheeled back around to face Emmett. She towered over him as he sat hunched over on the bed, and Emmett felt every spiteful word she threw at him.

" _We're_ the ones who took her in, _we're_ the ones who loved her, and now _you're_ just going to swoop in with your money and…" Angela trailed off as her tears began to flow once more. It was undeniable now—Emmett could not mistake the overt jealousy colouring her voice.

"She's my family," he repeated gain, and although his voice was softer it was no less insistent. "She's my only family, Angela. I can't just…"

"Yeah," said Angela, standing abruptly. "I know." She stood between Emmett and her fiancé for a long moment before Ben stood as well, offering her a hand.

"Maybe we should go," he said, glancing between Angela and Emmett. "I mean…"

Emmett said nothing as Angela glared down at him, her breath coming hard and fast. When Emmett didn't speak Angela wheeled around and snatched her handbag from the floor, mopping her wet eyes with her sleeve.

"Fine," she said. "Let's go, Ben."

"Angela…" Emmett sighed as he stood, following her to the door. "You're her best friend…"

"Yeah, I am," she said, turning to stare him down once again. "And as happy as I'll be for her when she finally gets what she wants from you, just remember this—she might be _your_ family, but when you decided to leave her, she became _mine_ too."

When she stalked out of the room she did not say goodbye.

* * *

Emmett held the phone tightly to his ear, listening avidly to the voice of Jason Jenks as he spoke from his office back in California. Emmett could barely hear the words he was saying, could barely stop and think to process what had just come out of the man's mouth.

"Are you still there?" asked Jenks, concerned. "This connection, I swear…"

"No, I'm here," said Emmett, an involuntary smile tugging at his face. "I'm here."

"Did you hear what I said?" asked Jenks. "Billy Black says that because it's in your father's name, and your father is deceased, that as long as you have a valid license and proof of death then they'll release it to you."

"Where did they find it?" demanded Emmett, his voice cracking. "In LA?"

"Someone called it in as abandoned. In the parking lot of an apartment complex near Chinatown."

Emmett's mind reeled, trying to figure out just what had happened for his sister to end up in the one place he had been so sure she was not—his own city of Los Angeles.

"How…?" Emmett shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Seattle PD ran her plates and VIN number. They got a hit in the LAPD system. The truck was towed to an impound lot at 1730 Olympic Boulevard in downtown LA."

"Bella's in Los Angeles?" he asked stupidly, wishing he wasn't so flustered.

"Her truck is in Los Angeles," corrected Jenks. "The police have already searched it, and didn't find any clues to tell us where _she_ might be."

"But if her car is there…" said Emmett, excitement bubbling up. "She must be nearby."

"She might be," said Jenks. "The truck has been sitting in impound for almost a month."

She had been in Los Angeles all this time.

"I'll be on the first flight home," said Emmett, powering up his computer. "I'll be there by tonight."

"Call Marcus when you get in," said Jenks. "If you're in before seven, we can make it to the lot tonight to pick it up. They say it's got a bad alternator…"

"I don't care," said Emmett, finding the next flight out of Seattle. He had two hours. "I'll be there. Tell Marcus I'll be there."

 **A/N: Sorry I'm a bit late! It was a pretty hectic week. We're drawing closer to the big reunion now, and I know most of you are patiently waiting for that to happen. Let me know what you think! Reviews always make my day- When I know you're waiting, I always feel more inspired!**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Emmett waited in the early morning darkness outside the doors of Impound Express on Olympic Boulevard in downtown Los Angeles. It had been four hours since he had arrived home, ragged and exhausted after spending an extra two hours at SeaTac Airport waiting for the fog to clear, and then suffering through an emergency landing in Portland after another passenger had taken ill. By the time the plane had taken off again in Portland Emmett had abandoned all hope of arriving home in time to catch the impound workers before they left for the night, and so when he had arrived at his house at 2 in the morning, he had called Marcus and asked him to pull some strings.

Emmett had offered to pay the owner an exorbitant fee for early access to the lot, and more importantly, for private access. There would be no lineup, no crowd waiting to pick up vehicles. Emmett would be uninterrupted and he would be able to take his time with the mystery truck.

The man had said that he would open the door at 7, but it was now five after and there was still no sign of him.

The entire trip home, Emmett had sat in the little plane seat, his foot tapping anxiously against the cabin floor. He had not had the time to book himself a more private seat—he was in first class next to some stealthily staring businessmen and a pair openly ogling teenage girls. Emmett had been certain that by the end of the trip they would make their way over to ask for an autograph.

For the first time in weeks, ever since Marcus had called him into the office so early all those weeks ago, Emmett was beginning to feel the first gentle nudges of hope. He had so quickly and so suddenly darted off to Seattle when he'd discovered his sister's plight, but after that first mad dash, the first frantic, eager search, there had been little to go on. As far as Emmett could tell Bella had disappeared, drifted away like a puffy little dandelion seed when a child's breath tore it from its stem. There was no trace of her—no phone calls, no messages, not even a note to explain where she had decided to go.

For twelve years, Emmett had lived in relative peace. As much as he missed his family, his sister especially, that yearning had not stopped him from trying to achieve his goals. He had not stopped in his ambition or his quest for fame and recognition. As much as he wondered about Bella, he had never stopped to turn back, never decided to go and check on her, to see if she was happy or safe. He kicked himself now—when none of his checks had ever been cashed, he should have known something was wrong. He should have known that Bella, that bright-eyed, gentle little soul that had grown so attached to his own in the ten years they'd had together, would not have ignored him. He should have known, like Angela had so angrily pointed out, that Bella would not have let him go, not of her own free will.

He was almost certain that she would hate him when he found her.

"Mr. Swan?" A strange man's voice cut into his thoughts and Emmett started, wheeling around. An elderly man—the shop's owner, he supposed—was walking towards the door with a ring of keys hanging from his finger. They jingled as he walked.

"That's me," said Emmett, trying his best to smile. "Thanks for meeting me so early."

"Not at all, not at all…" said the man, wheezing as he limped forward. Emmett made space for him to pass. "All in a day's work, you know…"

When he unlocked the door and let them in, Emmett was grateful that he closed the blinds behind them so that no one passing by on the street would catch sight of them. The man settled himself in behind the desk and turned on an aging desktop computer, the fans whirring noisily in the dead silence of the shop.

"Here for the old Chevy?" he asked, tapping a username and password on the machine.

"That's right."

"You have the papers?" he asked, holding out a hand. Emmett reached into the bag he'd brought with him and pulled out the file folder, laying it down on the counter.

"My dad's death certificate is on top," he said, clearing his throat, "and here's my license."

"Good, good…" said the man, inspecting the documents Emmett had put together. Marcus had kindly enlisted Jenks to acquire the records they needed, and that folder contained everything from Charlie's and Emmett's birth certificates, the house deed, and even copies of the car's insurance payments coming from Charlie's bank account.

"All looks to be in order," said the man easily, handing the folder back to Emmett. "If you'll come with me out to the lot we can get her hooked up and ready to go."

"Great," said Emmett, a weight settling in the pit of his stomach. This was the closest he'd been to Bella in years, and he wondered what he was about to find.

"She's a grand old truck, that's certain," said the man. "Your daddy had good taste. The police were out here, though, looking through it…"

"Yeah," said Emmett, clearing his throat. "My sister was driving it."

"That's right, that's right," said the man, with the tone of one who had just remembered a great story. "The little girl from the television."

Emmett nodded.

"Shame, that is," he said. "Any luck yet?"

"This is the closest we've been," said Emmett, shrugging. "Until her plates ran hot we didn't even know she'd left Seattle."

"Poor girl," said the man. "This isn't an easy city for someone all alone."

"I know," said Emmett, trying to ignore the growing dread. "I came alone too."

"Ah, but you did mighty fine," said the man. "No one needs to be worried about you not finding your way."

Emmett said nothing as the man led him down a row of cars, some covered with tarps. When they passed the hood of a particularly large, jacked up pickup truck Emmett could see the semi-familiar rusty red fender of the truck from the photograph, and his heart began to hammer.

"That's it right there," said the man. "There's a bunch of boxes in the back, though it looks like some are missing."

"Thank you," said Emmett, and the old man smiled when he handed Emmett an old truck key.

"They found this on the ground outside," said the man. "Your girl must have dropped it."

Emmett held it tightly in his fist.

"I'm going to go back in and get one of the trucks ready. My son is coming down in about twenty minutes to hook it up and he'll drive it wherever you need to go. You can pay up front before you leave."

"Thank you," said Emmett, holding his breath as the old man walked away. Emmett stood, motionless, until he could no longer hear the clicking of the man's cane on the pavement, and just as the first rays of sun began to light up the distant horizon, Emmett slid the key into the driver's side door.

It popped open with ease, considering the age of the old thing, and Emmett was quickly assaulted by the smell of pine and leather. He slid into the cab, closing the door behind him, and breathed a deep breath of the synthetically perfumed air, tapping the tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. If he closed his eyes, even for the briefest moment, he could not stop himself from laughing at the thought of his sister, the little, skinny girl from the photograph, manning this beast of a thing all on her own. Emmett was not sure, good with cars though he was, whether or not he would be able to drive this thing, as he was certain there was some trick or other to make it run smoothly. He wondered then how much his sister knew about cars, whether or not she had taken on an aptitude for auto mechanics when she'd acquired this antique.

When he opened his eyes, shaking his head, he glanced around the cab, surprised to see some discarded things lying on the passenger's side floor. Reaching down Emmett was startled to find the old quilt he recognized as Charlie's favourite living room blanket—the one he kept hanging on the back of the sofa so religiously you would have thought it was a written law. Emmett could not help the small laugh that escaped when he pictured his father—the angry, shocked look that would have no doubt graced his face—if he knew that Bella had moved it. Emmett might not know how Charlie had been during the last years of his life but of this he was certain—he could not imagine, even in his wildest daydreams, that his father would have given up on the strange need for control he had over his possessions.

Charlie had always been touchy.

Left forgotten under the blanket, however, and much more interesting to Emmett, was an old, stained orange backpack that he had never seen before. What interested him most was not the bag itself, but rather the fact that it was bulging and looked ready to burst. Whatever was inside was bound to be interesting and important—Bella had packed up so many boxes in the back of the truck that anything that had earned a space up front must be precious cargo.

When he picked up the backpack, he was surprised by how light it was in his hands. The bag was very full, that much was certain, but whatever was inside was light and soft. The zipper was broken—the tab had been torn off—and Emmett struggled for a moment as his big fingers tried to grasp the small holding.

Once he had opened it an inch or so, he stuck his finger inside and pulled, forcing the zipper to move. He did not know what he expected to find inside, what treasures he thought might be hidden there—perhaps a hint to where Bella had gone? Perhaps some kind of note, a letter explaining why she had run to Emmett's city without a heads-up? Something deep inside hoped that he would find something useful, some clue or other that might give him a heading to follow, something that might point him in some vague direction.

Instead, when he reached his hand inside, he found a tuft of soft, brown fur that made his eyes burn and his throat close up. He knew that fur—he had felt it almost every night for the first twelve years of his life. Looking down, he saw the somewhat faded, but undeniably familiar outline of his childhood teddy bear—the one that had graced his bed until the day he had put it up with the rest of his childish things, and even then it had decorated his bookshelf. Breathing hard, Emmett pulled it carefully out of the bag and sat it on his lap, the familiar, beady black eyes staring blindly up at him through a coating of dust. The thing was smaller than he remembered—it had been so long since he had seen it that he had almost forgotten about it.

Emmett bit the inside of his cheek to keep the sudden feelings at bay— that bear had meant so much to him as a child. He had treasured it most dearly, even when his friends from middle school had teased him for keeping it. He remembered very clearly the day when Ryan Swimmer, the self-proclaimed "cool kid" of the seventh grade, had come over after school and had found the bear on Emmett's pillow. Emmett had been teased mercilessly at school until he had angrily evicted the bear from his bed, and from then on it had graced his shelves instead. Emmett remembered little Bella, just a toddling baby at the time, reaching out for it whenever he had allowed her in his bedroom…

Emmett could not help himself, almost twenty years after that incident with the Swimmer boy, from running his large hand over the soft fur. Emmett had not missed the bear—not even slightly since his departure to college when he'd left it behind in his old bedroom—but now that he had it again, it made him wonder why Charlie had kept it. Emmett had envisioned his old home many times over the past years, and each new version that he concocted had one never-changing detail: he had been certain— undeniably, positively sure—that Charlie had disassembled the childhood bedroom and erased his son, both literally and figuratively, from his life.

This was the first time in over a decade that Emmett's certainty wavered.

Brushing aside the wetness brewing in his eyes and putting the bear down on the seat next to him, Emmett took up the backpack again and turned it upside down on the seat, taking quick stock of the items that fell out. The biggest was a bound, hard-cover book that gave him the same feelings as the bear—his high school yearbook from senior year. Laughing as he picked it up, Emmett turned it over in his hands, wiping off the dust that covered it as well.

Bella must have raided the bedroom—the childhood sanctuary Emmett was sure his father had destroyed—before she left the house.

Deciding that he would reminisce about his youth later on, Emmett turned his attention to the small array of other items that had fallen out of the bag as well. He picked up an old wallet, opening it to peer inside. The ghost of a smile that was haunting his face was exorcized immediately when he saw what the wallet contained.

There was a bank card with his sister's name on the front, a Washington state driver's license with Bella's picture and vital details, and a pile of bills, adding up to about $60.

Scrambling to open all the zippers he could find, Emmett dove into pocket after pocket, pulling out a pile of old receipts, a few business cards, and a folded up piece of paper that was yellowed with age and slightly wrinkled, as if it had been wet.

Emmett could not distract himself from the ugly truth—whatever had happened to Bella, wherever she had ended up, wherever she was now, she was without her identification and she had no money. He took up the wallet's contents and placed it gently into the pockets of his jeans—he _would_ get to the bottom of this—but he could see the old lot owner's son striding towards the truck and Emmett was not about to let some stranger catch him crying over an old teddy bear.

"Hey," said the man—Emmett used the term lightly, as this boy could not have been a year out of high school. "My dad says you want this old girl towed?"

"That's right," said Emmett, clearing his throat. "Will the boxes be a problem?"

"Nah, we towed her here with them," shrugged the boy. "Got an address?"

* * *

Emmett watched from his long, spacious driveway as the tow truck operator backed out and left his yard, the automated gate closing behind him. The boy had been courteous and professional, despite his obvious excitement at being in the most private space of one of Hollywood's biggest stars—Emmett supposed that there weren't many A-list celebrities that had to call for a tow.

Back in his garage, which he had cleared out to make room for Bella's truck, Emmett carefully climbed back into the cab and took the orange backpack by the handles, swinging it up over his shoulder. He had unlocked the garage door and it stood open, waiting for him to unload the boxes from the bed of the truck.

Emmett all but ignored Leah, the woman who came to clean his house, though she eyed him curiously as he came in from the garage with box after box, stacking them neatly against the far wall of his sitting room. He rarely used the space—only if he had guests come over—and he sure as hell would not be entertaining for some time now.

"That's an awful lot of stuff," said Leah, hands on her hips as a cloth lay forgotten on the table. "Where'd all that come from?"

"My sister's stuff," said Emmett, breathing hard as he set the last of the boxes down. Leah did not need an explanation.

"Read about that in the gossip rags this morning," she said. Emmett started.

"Magazines?" he asked, frowning. "Not on the TV?"

"Nah, it's all over the checkouts at the Walgreens," said Leah, spraying some lemon Pledge onto the bookshelf by the fireplace. "Everyone's got the same story."

Emmett frowned.

"You didn't know?" she asked. "You did the interview…"

"For _eTalk_ ," he said shortly. "But I suppose…"

Leah clucked disapprovingly—she never did fully approve of tabloids—as Emmett shook his head. He supposed it was to be expected—why should the studio not sell the rights to his interview to every magazine begging for the chance to report the story? He was sure that they had made a pretty penny from it, too…

"…absolutely mad," muttered Leah angrily, wiping down a photograph on the mantle. "That boy of yours should keep you better informed."

Emmett could not help but grin. Leah, at least thirty years Emmett's senior, absolutely loathed Marcus and everything he did. Finding new ways to insult him, some of which were quite creative, seemed to be one of her favourite things to do.

"I'm sure he did," said Emmett quickly, not wanting to start a fight between his agent and his cleaning lady. "I've been, uh, _distracted_."

"Well I'll bet you have been," said Leah, pointing her cloth at him. "With that poor baby girl out there on her own, and you running back to Washington to find her…"

Emmett sighed, turning to the boxes. Leah loved to talk, and he knew she would continue until she was damn good and done. Emmett took the knife he'd slipped from the kitchen and tore the packing tape on the first box he pulled down from the pile, opening it and rummaging through.

"Let me tell you something—when you find that little girl of yours, you bring her home safe and I'll make sure she's all looked after," said Leah as Emmett sifted through a box of his father's old pants. "She needs someone to love her, that's for sure, and I'm sure she's hungry…"

Emmett cringed but did not stop in his unpacking, giving a "hmm," or "yeah," whenever Leah paused.

The next box held some old paperwork—he would go through that later.

"And let me tell you something else—I didn't know a thing about what your daddy was like before I read that rag. Was it all true? I mean, I knew you weren't close, but…"

Leah's voice grew muffled as she moved into the kitchen. Emmett sat carefully, sorting through the bric-a-brac he found in each box, knowing that he'd keep every piece until his sister could be here to go through it as well. He still had the boxes from his father's house to look through, too—the ones that Jude Allen had been kind enough to let him take. Those boxes had been delivered in his absence, while he had been in Seattle, and they were still sitting in the garage outside.

Emmett, stiff from sitting so long on the floor, leaned back and stretched, grimacing when something sharp poked his thigh as he moved. Standing quickly he reached a hand into his pocket, feeling the edge of the thick, folded notebook paper he'd found in Bella's wallet, and he pulled it out. He walked to the kitchen, where Leah was still chattering, and set the paper down on the counter.

"…make sure she's got everything she needs—What's that?" Leah spotted the paper on her freshly cleaned counter.

"Not sure," said Emmett, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. "Found it in Bell's wallet."

"Her wallet?" asked Leah, frowning. "Where could this girl have gotten off to, without her wallet?"

Emmett sighed. The more he rested, drinking his cold water, the more tired he was growing—he had slept so little this past week and knowing that his bed, warm and soft, was just upstairs…

"Well, aren't you going to look?" demanded Leah, her voice coming out in a rush. "I don't mean to be rude, but what if it's important?"

Emmett glanced back at the paper. A big part of him wanted to look, wanted so badly to open it up and read some great revelation, some great hint as to where she could be, but he knew it would be for naught. He could hope all he wanted, hope beyond hope that he would find that one vital clue, the big hint that would spark his frantic manhunt through Los Angeles, but his logic told him it would be no such thing—if Bella had wanted to leave him a hint, it would not be in her wallet, so far from where he would have been able to find it.

"Oh for goodness' sake," snapped Leah, losing her patience and snatching up the paper. Emmett protested, reaching out to grab it back, but the woman was quick and she was out of his reach before he could get her. He watched her worn, weathered hands peel the paper apart, her eyes scanning whatever she found written there.

A furrow appeared between her brows.

"What is it?" asked Emmett, reaching out once again. Leah glanced up, her lips pursed as she folded the paper, handing it back to him.

"It's you."

"What?"

Leah shook her head and began to wipe down the counter again. Emmett scrambled, his hands shaking, to unfold the paper and when he did, his eyes narrowed. He recognized the paper from his father's old book—the addresses he kept so diligently tucked away in his bedside table. The page, unrecognizable at first due to its discolouration and water damage, became startlingly familiar as he looked down at the long-forgotten handwriting, the tall, orderly penmanship that was his father's hallmark.

 _Emmett Swan_ _  
_ _Benson Talent Agency_ _  
_ _818-555-7682_

Emmett's mouth went dry.

"This can't be it…" he said, shaking his head. Leah watched him with sympathetic eyes as he darted from the kitchen, water bottle and tiredness forgotten. Emmett scrambled to the boxes he'd left behind, glancing around the room for the orange backpack he'd found in the cab. When he'd turned it over, he remembered the envelope—the one missive that had been missing from the collection he'd found in the basement.

Reaching his hand into the bag, Emmett pulled out the worn, wrinkled envelope and carefully peeled out the letter—the first one he'd ever written to Bella, and the only one she'd ever received. Surely he had left another phone number here, as he had on all the others…

 _January 12, 2004_

 _Beautiful Bella,_

 _I know I haven't been on the phone with you lately, but I'm worried that if I call dad won't put me through. I'm writing you this letter instead from my temporary place in my new city. I know you'll worry, but don't—I'm safe and happy where I am now. I'm sorry you had to see that fight last week, and I hope dad has calmed down. As you can probably guess, I'm not in Washington anymore and I'm finding myself a new life to live as far away from dad as possible._

 _I did it Bell—I made it to California. Junker Jeep almost gave out on me, but she made it the full ride and I've found myself a room in a house with a few other guys on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I don't plan to be here long. Hopefully, I'll find some good work and maybe an agent, so I can start finding_ _some acting gigs to make some cash. Who knows? Maybe next time I see you I'll be a famous movie star! (Don't laugh at me)._

 _I know you're probably upset and confused, so I won't talk about anything that might make you sad. Instead, I'll tell you all about California—all about the sunny beaches and big, tall palm trees. You'd love it here, kiddo—there's so much sun and sand. I might be a broke drop out right now, but nature is free. Every day, when I go to an audition, I pass one of the biggest beaches in the city, right on the Pacific Ocean. I know you've seen the ocean—it's the same one that borders Washington—but it's so much brighter and warmer here._

 _Someday, when you're older, I'll bring you down here and we'll go and see the beaches together. I'll show you everything, kiddo—all the sand, sun, and surf you could ask for. I know you'd love the Walk of Fame, and the Hollywood sign—just like in the movies! Maybe dad can come too, if he calms down enough to be civil again._

 _This is the thing we dreamed about, Bell—you and me. Remember when we'd stay up past lights out on weekends and look through all those travel magazines? I've never been more happy to say anything in my life—sunny California is just as beautiful, warm, and full of life as we imagined it would be. And someday, when you're all grown up and on your own, you can come too and you'll see it all for yourself. When you come, I'll buy you the best churros from the finest food carts, and we'll eat fancy seafood at the cheesiest boat restaurant Los Angeles has to offer, just like we said we would._

 _I wish I could come and get you right now and take you with me, but I know dad won't ever let you go before you're grown. Write me back—tell me all about how you are, how school is, and how dad's doing. The address on the envelope will be my home for a few weeks at least, so that should be enough time for me to get your response. If I don't hear from you, I'll write you back with a new address._

 _Don't ever forget—you're my most favourite baby sister, even if you are the only one I'll ever get. I love you._

 _Your big brother,_

 _Emmett_

Emmett read the words over with silent tears coursing down his face, sniffling as his hands shook, the letter blurring and clearing as he tried to contain himself. He had all but forgotten about this first letter—the one that was so full of false hope and optimism that it almost made him sick. He had been so anxious when he penned this—so scared that he would fail, that his life would come to nothing in a city that was made for those with the power to succeed. This letter, this tender, awkward attempt to reassure a worried child, had come out of one of the most desperate moments of his life. He remembered writing as he sat in a dark, damp bedroom with a mattress on the floor, across the hall from his twenty-year-old, pot-smoking landlord—a trust fund baby whose parents had purchased him a house while he attended UCLA. Emmett remembered the innumerable anxious nights as he had sat in the semi-darkness, counting dollar bills to find out whether or not he would have enough money to pay his rent, let alone to buy groceries or afford stamps.

However down he was, however, Emmett knew that he could not write to that scared little girl back home with tales of woe and destitution. He could not tell her that he couldn't afford food, or that his eighteen-year-old self, in all his wisdom, had made a huge, terrible mistake in risking everything to pursue what seemed, at the time, nothing but a pipe dream. It was the memory of her—that tearful little face watching him from the upstairs window—that had kept him moving forward. He and Bella were a team—she was the one he thought of when he had to force himself up from the floor each morning to find work. He wanted to make her proud—to make her happy little face light up when she thought of him, and he would not be the one to cause her pain.

Emmett knew now what his eighteen-year-old self could not express in words—that this little girl, his partner in crime and best friend, had been the person he loved most in the world. As he read that letter over and over, eyes streaming and sore, he couldn't help but wonder how much of this was his fault. Bella, at twenty two, had made her own decision to leave Seattle, but had it been this letter—this falsely hopeful, sunny account of California—that had drawn her here? Was it a want of his love, a love that he had so blindly denied her for so many years, that pulled her close to him?

If he had never written that letter, never put pen to paper to fabricate such sad, beautiful lies about a strange city, would Bella have risked it all to come to him?

Emmett carefully folded the letter again, turning it over in his hand as he reached for the old envelope. He was just about to put it back inside, to put the old words away for good, when a small scribble on the bottom of the back caught his eye.

 _P.S. I left you a surprise in the cupboard. Don't tell dad._

Emmett held his breath.

 _The cupboard. The cupboard. The_ _cupboard…_

"The cupboard!" he shouted, and Leah poked her head back in.

"What's that, honey?"

"I need my phone," said Emmett, wiping his face on his sleeve. Leah clucked and reached for a tissue, but Emmett blew past her and scrambled to the dining room, where he knew he'd dropped his cell phone. He was certain he had left in on the table, but as he scanned through the room, looking everywhere, he could not find it…

"Here," said Leah, handing him the black iPhone. "I just cleaned that table."

"You're wonderful," said Emmett quickly, reaching over to hug the little woman as he began sifting through his contacts. "Really, Leah. Thank you."

"You're welcome, honey," said Leah, surprised at this sudden burst of affection. Emmett was a kind employer, and he paid her very well, but never in all her time with him had she seen him so emotive.

Emmett pressed the phone to his ear once he had found the name he was looking for, foot tapping impatiently as the line began to ring.

"Marcus Benson." The gruff voice of his agent had never sounded so wonderful.

"Marcus!" said Emmett in a rush. "I need you."

"What is it?" demanded Marcus, and Emmett heard his keyboard clacking. "Did you find something?"

"I need Jude Allen's phone number," said Emmett, ignoring the reply. "I think I know where to look."

"Jude Allen?" asked Marcus, surprised. "The one who—"

"Bought the house, yeah," said Emmett, nodding as he jogged into the sitting room. He sat on an upturned box. "I really need to talk to her."

"Have you found something?"

"The truck," said Emmett impatiently. "And her stuff. All of her stuff."

"All of it?"

"The number, Marcus!" said Emmett, excitement bubbling over. "I need that number!"

"Alright, alright," said Marcus, harassed. "Give me a minute." Emmett scrambled for a sharpie and an old box he'd already emptied as Marcus looked.

"Ready?" he asked, rattling off the phone number as Emmett scribbled it down on the brown cardboard.

"Thanks," said Emmett. "You're the best."

"What are you calling them for?" asked Marcus. "What did you forget?"

"The cupboard," said Emmett. "I forgot the cupboard."

He hung up before Marcus had the chance to ask.

 **A/N: Another chapter for all of you, because you're so awesome. I'm still not quite done with school, but we're almost there!**

 **Let me know what you think- this chapter made me strangely sad. Did it make you sad too?**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Check out my note at the end!**

Chapter 14

Bella sat across from Rosalie, tapping her foot against the leg of the chair as Rose hummed a little tune, waiting for her printer to finish. The cup of tea Rose had made her, strong and hot, sat steaming on the desk—it was still too hot to drink, but the smell of fruit and hibiscus made Bella's mouth water. It had been so long since Bella was able to enjoy a good cup of tea, and she was waiting, rather impatiently, for this particular cup to cool.

"Sorry," said Rose, sighing as the old machine passed sheet after sheet of paper one inch at a time, printing a few lines of text. The silence had grown long and awkward.

"It's fine," said Bella, shaking her head as she turned the teacup in its saucer. "No rush."

"This thing is decrepit," laughed Rose, shaking her head. "I usually have this done beforehand, but you came so late last night…"

"Yeah." Bella's face went red.

"I figured I'd get you started right off the bat," said Rose, abandoning her fruitless vigil by the dying printer with an annoyed sigh. She sat herself down in the rolling desk chair and wheeled her way over to Bella, leaning over the desk to talk.

"Started on what?" asked Bella. The familiar tendrils of anxiety, so quick to sneak up on her, were creeping closer again.

"Get you all set up with appointments and such," said Rose. "We've got the doctor covered, as you've just been released from the hospital, but if you're willing to go, I'd like to send you to the dentist and eye doctor too, just to make sure you're all up to date."

"I don't have…" began Bella, clearing her throat. It was still a little sore, as if she was not quite over whatever infection she was fighting off.

"Insurance?" guessed Rose. "Don't worry about that. Everyone I work will is well aware of the circumstances."

"So they don't…?"

"They won't make you pay," said Rose gently, shaking her head. She procured two brochures from her desk—different from the ones that Rose had provided her upon her arrival the night before. "They're all willing to take my girls pro bono."

"That's…" began Bella, fighting against an unholy urge to resist. She did not want to be a charity case, and she did not want to take anything more than she absolutely had to.

"…generous," she finished lamely, clutching the teacup in her hands. Rose scrutinized her closely, her face betraying no emotion as Bella sipped the piping hot tea, cringing as it burnt her tongue.

"It's my opinion," began Rose softly, "that if we are to succeed, then we must make certain that all of our needs are met—and that starts with making sure we're healthy."

"Right."

"You've got a leg up on lots of the women that come through here—you don't have any addiction or substance abuse problems. That's what gets so many of our girls and gives this place a revolving door. You might have some demons of your own to contend with, but at least your mind is your own."

"Do you see lots of addicts?" asked Bella, her interest piqued.

"A fair few," sighed Rose, glancing at the printer as it chugged away, pumping out another few pages. "Some of the social workers like to send them here for the free medical."

"Right," said Bella, frowning. "It's too bad that more places don't do the same."

"It's all about who you work with," said Rose, reaching over to grab the first set of papers from the printer tray. "I've just managed to find some good, decent people who are willing to work with me when I need them to. Plus," she added, winking, "it looks good on their CV when they can say that they do some volunteer work."

Bella snorted. She was beginning to doubt that anyone, even benevolent, kind doctors, ever did anything solely because it was right or good.

"These," began Rose, handing Bella the first few papers, "are medical questionnaires. If you sign the consent," she tapped the bottom of the paper with her pen, "then I'll have them submitted before lunch time and we can get you all booked in. The other two are for the dentist and optometrist. Same sort of deal."

"Thanks," said Bella, taking the pen Rose offered her. She began to fill out boxes, writing in her name.

"I also have to say," Rose's voice cut into Bella's concentration, "that yours is one of the better resumes I've seen come through here. I'm surprised that…"

"That I didn't find a job before?" asked Bella, frowning. Rosalie nodded.

"Many of the women here, though not all, have very little in the way of job experience," she continued, clicking on her computer. "But you've got six years at one place. That's pretty impressive, especially at your age."

"Thanks," said Bella sourly, frowning at the recollection of Mike's harsh words and his hand on her leg. Although it had been some months since it had happened, she was still bitter over the way she had been let go—she could still feel the sting of injustice when she thought of him, smug and greasy in his desk chair, accusing her of theft. As she brooded her mind immediately turned to Bree, the little high school girl that had gone behind her back to tell stories, and her bitterness turned to anger—she could almost feel the bile rising in her throat.

"You okay?" asked Rose, snapping Bella from her musings. Bella nodded quickly.

"Fine," she said. "Just thinking."

"Care to share?"

"Not really."

"Alright then," said Rose easily, not bothered in the least by Bella's sudden surliness. Bella knew she was being rude and she forced herself to smile.

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I'm just thinking about that last job."

"Mhm." Rosalie pointedly avoided meeting her gaze, but Bella knew she was paying attention.

"My old boss got angry with me for eating after hours," Bella said in a rush. "All the girls did it—when shift was over, he would let us go to the kitchen and take whatever would go bad by the next day. It was technically against the rules, but everyone did it…"

"And he let you go for it?" guessed Rose.

"Yeah," said Bella. "For that and because I wouldn't let him grab my leg in his office."

Even to her own ears, Bella's voice sounded bitter.

"Pig." Bella glanced up at the disdain in Rose's voice. She was still not looking at Bella.

"Men like that disgust me," she sniffed, grabbing the last few papers from the printer. It seemed to have finished. "Treating people like shit and then blaming them, like they're the ones who asked for it…"

Bella sipped her tea, which had cooled slightly, not knowing how to reply to the diatribe.

"But anyways…" Bella snapped back to attention. "About that resume. I can't force you to do anything, but I know a few places that are hiring, if you're interested."

"I am," said Bella, blinking in surprise. "That's all I've wanted since I came here."

"To work?" asked Rose, eyebrows raised. "You came to L.A. for work?"

"No…" said Bella, her face red again. "Not exactly. But it was a part of the plan."

"Do you mind if I ask you why you _did_ come to L.A.?" she asked gently. "Jasper tells me you're from Washington."

Bella nodded.

"I just…" she began, struggling to find the right words. "I just needed a change, that's all."

Rosalie said nothing.

"I thought…" Bella trailed off, and a long pause followed.

"You thought?" prompted Rose.

"I thought that maybe it would be nicer here. You know, warmer. Sunnier."

"Well, it is that," laughed Rose. "I've been to Seattle exactly four times, and each time I was there it rained cats and dogs."

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," said Bella. "Clouds, rain, more clouds, more rain…"

"Do you miss it?" asked Rose.

"Some," said Bella, refusing to tell the whole truth—she could barely express just how much she missed her home and her old life. "Things were easier there."

"Do you have any family out here?" asked Rose. "Or friends?"

"I…" Rose seemed to know just the right questions to make Bella hedge.

"It's alright," said Rose, waving her hand. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. Don't think that if you say the wrong thing that you'll have to leave."

"I wasn't," said Bella. "I mean, I don't. Think that, I mean."

"We don't kick anyone out unless they break the rules," continued Rose.

"No, I know that," said Bella. "It's just a kind of a…hard question."

"No worries," said Rosalie. "Forget I asked."

Bella glanced down at the forms again, ticking off a few more boxes and signing her name on the bottom of the first, hesitating before she slid it across the desk. Every part of her, especially the independent, spirited part, was screaming at her to hold back, to refuse the help she was being offered. She was not a charity case—she was not someone who needed to be treated differently than any other woman. Why should she, the nomadic runaway, get special treatment? What made her more worthy than any other person who might need medical attention?

But the more she thought about it the more she realized she was not as special as she would like to think—try as she might to distance herself from the other women at Invictus, she could not. She and they were one and the same—each of them had fallen on hard times and were fighting their own personal battles, and Bella's demons were proving equal to any others that lurked in this place.

"Can I ask you something?" Bella began, breaking the silence once more as she looked up from another page.

"Anything," said Rose, glancing up. "Is it about the forms?"

"No," said Bella. "No. Um…"

"I don't bite," laughed Rose, looking deeply amused. "I'm here to help."

Bella could not help but snicker.

"Where do you know that's hiring?" she asked, setting the pen back down. "Are you sure they'll take someone like me?"

"What do you mean, 'someone like you'?" frowned Rose.

"Well, no one would hire me before because I didn't have an address," said Bella. "And now…"

"Now?"

"Now I'm here," she finished lamely, unable to meet Rose's eye. "I don't know what employers think of women in places like this…"

"They think nothing of it," said Rose, shrugging. "Most people don't even know what this address is. You're a good candidate, and that's what they're going to judge you by."

"Right," said Bella, not entirely reassured. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Rose. "I've got a few places on my radar—but I know one for sure that is highly interested in someone with food service experience."

"Oh?" asked Bella, unable to help her smile. The prospect of a job, even one as menial as what she'd left behind in Washington, was titillating.

"My sister-in-law is looking for some help over at her place," said Rose. "And you've already got an in with her…"

"Your sister-in… wait," Bella frowned. "Alice?"

"That's the one," said Rose, smiling. "She's only got the one guy right now, Tyler, and he's only a barista. She needs someone to take orders and handle the counter while he makes drinks, and she asked me if any of my girls would be interested."

"Uh…" Bella did not know what to say. What had started out as anticipatory butterflies in her stomach had erupted into full-blown nausea, though she could not, for the life of her, determine why. She had plenty of experience handling food—she had dealt with all kinds of customers at Mike's—and she was more than ready to begin working.

"You okay?" asked Rose, concern seeping into her voice as Bella spun the teacup in her hands. The pen was abandoned on the desk as Bella stared into the cup, ignoring the hot steam on her face. She could feel her hands shaking.

"Yeah," said Bella, forcing a smile. "I just…"

"You just what?" asked Rose. "Are you not interested in Alice's offer?"

"No, it's not that…" said Bella quickly, glancing up. "I am. It's just…"

Rose waited.

"She's the one who…"

"Found you," finished Rose, when Bella trailed off. Bella nodded. Embarrassment, hot and biting, flooded through her and she fought back against an irrational urge to cry.

How could Bella, in good conscience, look that kind woman in the eye after she'd found her in that destitute, deplorable state? Alice had done so much for Bella, and she was grateful, but she was not sure she would ever be able to see Alice again without feeling a flush of shame, or a niggling sense of duty. She could never adequately repay Alice for her kindness, and Bella could not stand living with an unpayable debt.

"Bella, honey…" Rose's voice had gone soft again. "Let me tell you one thing, and I'll tell it to you straight. Alice is one of the kindest people you'll ever meet. Not everyone would have done what she did—she cares about you."

"And I have no idea why," said Bella, shaking her head. "She doesn't even know me. But she took me into her office, and called the ambulance, and sat with me every day in that hospital… she even bought me a care package."

"That sounds like her," said Rose, smiling. "She's a very giving person. But don't let that stop you. She'll give you a fair chance, and I know she'd be very happy to know you're trying."

"I know I'm being silly," said Bella, blinking hard against her tears. "It's just that…"

"I understand," said Rose. "It's hard to accept help, even when we need it."

"Exactly," said Bella.

The pair were silent for a long moment.

"Well, you don't have to decide today," said Rose, smiling as Bella put her now-empty teacup back in its saucer. "I'll give you some time to think about it."

"No," said Bella, shaking her head. "I'm being silly. Of course I'll put my name in."

"Only if you want to," said Rose. "I also have the manager at a hardware store, the lady over at the Walmart, and the night manager at Subway looking for help."

Bella sighed.

"I'll take whatever I can get," she said, her brows furrowed. "I can't afford to be choosy."

"Whatever you want to do," said Rose again, taking Bella's completed forms off the desk. "I can send your resumes out to all four, or only a few, if that's what you want."

"All of them," said Bella, forcing back the hot, sticky pride that was screaming at her to refuse, to turn down the offer to help. She could not afford hubris—her pride would not be the thing that held her back.

"I need to make myself useful."

"If you're sure," said Rose, unable to suppress her smile. "If you're absolutely sure, I'll send them off."

"I am," she said, though she was not sure she spoke the truth. "I really am."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Rose. "You've got a lot of potential, Bella, and I'm very glad to see it won't be wasted.

* * *

At 9 o'clock that evening, Bella sat in front of the bookshelf in the abandoned common room outside of her bedroom, staring at the piles of books she found there. Rosalie had told her again before she had left the office, as she had a number of times throughout the day, that the books were free to take so long as she was sure to return them when she was finished. Bella had not realized how much she had missed her novels—the only books she had taken with her had been lost in her truck, wherever it had ended up. As she browsed the titles, scanning for any familiar favourites, Bella could not help the thrill of excitement at the thought of being able to reclaim her lost vehicle—maybe, if she had some income, she would be able to get herself around town to figure out just what had happened to it. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would be able to find some of her old things.

 _Maybe,_ said the little voice in her head, _you'll find something else, too. Maybe you'll find_ someone _else…_

Bella shook her head—she could not afford thoughts like these. She would not, even in her own mind, entertain the idea—not even the vaguest, most distant daydream—that she would find family here. For twelve years Bella had longed for her brother to return—she had dreamed, even well into adulthood, that one day her brother would appear to take her away, to show her some other life other than the dull, repetitive routine she'd known under Charlie's regime. Bella had loved her father, but life with him had not been the stuff of a girl's dreams—she had felt so stifled and suffocated that she thought she might die.

It had been Emmett's letter—the one, brief, hopeful missive—that had drawn her to California in the first place. She had not been able to tell this secret to Rosalie, to spill the details of her sordid and foolish dream of finding family in her brother's paradise. She could not tell Rose, even though she knew it was true, that a part of her still held on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, if she were able to talk to him, or even _see_ him, that she might be able to rekindle some of the love that had been so suddenly and mysteriously lost all those years ago.

Bella had never been quite sure why her brother had lost contact—why he hadn't written after that first letter, and why he had never called or visited. Many times over her childhood, Bella had ruminated over it—had it been she, little as she was, that had kept him away? Had he and dad fought again, out of her sight and hearing? Had Charlie said something to Emmett, something so foul or hateful that her brother had given up all hope of a happy family and left Bella, young as she was, to the mercy of their father?

While she scanned the titles on the bookshelf, looking for something, _anything,_ that might take her away, she could not help the stray tear that slid down her cheek as her old childhood anxieties reared their ugly heads again. Logically, as an adult woman, Bella knew that it was nothing she had done, that there was nothing that the little ten-year-old girl in the window _could_ have done, to drive her brother away. She knew that whatever reason Emmett had for leaving her behind, no matter how painful it was for her, would not have been the result of anything she could have done. Standing there, thinking, Bella remembered the pretty promises he had made her—the vow to take her away, to bring her to his sunny paradise, to show her all the beautiful and marvellous wonders that the world, especially that which her father had denied her, could hold.

When she thought of those days—those hopeful, happy days of longing and eager excitement—she could not help the sad, nostalgic lump that grew in her throat. It had been some time since she had known that little girl—the one filled with hope and goodness—but part of her, even now, could not let her go. Bella wondered, as another tear slipped down her face, whether or not her brother, if he could see her now, would recognize the woman she had become. Would he be able to see past the life she was living, this place in which she found herself, to see the little girl he had once loved? Would he, in his strange, unspeakable absence, be able to love her as she was now?

Staring at that bookshelf, desperately seeking some familiar, comforting tale to take her away from this ugly reality, Bella could not help but notice that this was the first time in a long while that she had let herself even _think_ about her brother. She did not know what had changed, but where she had once, not so long ago, held anger and resentment, there was now only emptiness. In that moment, standing in the semi-darkness of the common room, Bella truly allowed herself to think about the family she had lost—her father and brother, who had both slipped from her life as quickly and suddenly as water in a river. Try as she might, Bella hadn't been able to catch them, to put her hands in the flowing torrent and hold some part of them with her, even when they seemed so desperate to get away. She could only hope that now, if she stood silent and still long enough on the bank, that the one still left in this world would come flowing back to her, carried on some invisible current long enough for her to make another grab. She could not be sure how she would be received—would he be angry to find her skulking in his backyard?—but Bella knew, then and there, that she would have to try.

When she slipped into bed that night, an old copy of _Jane Eyre_ resting on the desk as she turned out the light, Bella could not help but whisper a soft, quiet _goodnight_ to the brother that could not hear her. Pursing her lips against the sudden sadness—the overwhelming urge to cry—Bella closed her eyes and sniffled, pressing her face into the pillow.

 _What would he think of her now?_

 **A/N: I have decided to start editing _Fade to Grey_ (an older story of mine), so there is a new chapter of that one posted as well. You won't have received any alerts for it, as I have simply replaced the old first chapter with the new version. Subsequent chapters will be added as entirely new (the old chapters have been removed), so if you've already subscribed, you will see chapter updates for that one restarting in the near future.**

 **For those of you who are not familiar with _Fade to Grey,_ here is the story summary:**

 **Sixteen year old Bella Swan has returned to Forks to live out her last few months with her family. Desperate for normalcy as she nears the end of her life, Bella strikes up an unlikely friendship with the neighbour's teenage son. A story of love and friendship in the midst of tragedy, and of how a girl with so little time can touch the lives of those she will leave behind. AH.**

 **Let me know what you think of this chapter! I love hearing from everyone!**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

On the morning of her interview Bella woke with the sun, snapping to attention as quickly and suddenly as if her alarm had gone off. Although the room was dark—the morning light was only just peeking through the window—it registered to her that this was the first morning that she had not woken up confused, unsure of where she was. It had been seven days since her arrival at Invictus and she was growing used to her new surroundings—the little room with its tidy desk and patchwork quilt no longer seemed strange to her when she opened her eyes each day.

On this particular morning, however, Bella could not help the rush of nausea that flowed through her at the thought of what she had to do. Like Rosalie had promised, she had submitted Bella's medical requests and handed out her resumes to those places she had mentioned were hiring. Bella had not expected to hear back so soon, but she was not entirely surprised when Rosalie approached her at dinner three days later and told her that Alice wanted to meet with her to conduct an interview.

Bella had not seen Alice since her arrival at the shelter, and she could not help but wonder how it would be when she saw her later on this morning. Rosalie had informed her that she would go to the shop, this time through the front door, and Alice would take care of the rest. Glancing at her clock Bella saw that it was only 6 o'clock, and she had a few hours left until she had to leave.

Somehow, with leaden feet and an anxious, fluttery feeling in her chest, Bella made it through her morning routine in less than an hour. By the time she had finished, she found herself staring out of her bedroom window, dressed and brushed, and ready to find some breakfast before she went. She was not sure she would be able to eat but she knew she had to try—the doctor, whom she had seen for her follow-up appointment not two days prior, had given her strict instructions to get her weight up. She was no longer at risk of complications from the infection she'd contracted on the streets, but the doctor warned her that if she did not try to be healthy, there would be new consequences to contend with.

"You're up early," said Kitty, yawning as she lounged against Bella's doorframe. Bella started, wheeling around, and Kitty's eyes widened.

"You okay?" she asked, taking a step inside. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," said Bella, clearing her throat. "Just nervous."

"Right, right," said Kitty, scratching her nose. "The interview."

"Yeah."

"Good for you, by the way," she said, smiling when Bella grimaced. "You managed to land yourself some interviews pretty quick."

"Rose helped," said Bella, flushing. "I mean…"

"Don't undersell yourself," said Kitty. "Whatever their reason for calling you in, that's all on you. Rose can't fabricate your resume."

"Yeah," said Bella, picking at her fingernails. Kitty stood for a moment longer, eyebrows raised, but was ultimately silent as she slipped from the bedroom to go down for breakfast. Feeling constricted in the room, which was growing steadily lighter, Bella followed after her, finding the dining room devoid of any other people except for the lady who cooked the meals.

"Hello honey," she said kindly, smiling. Bella could only grimace back, taking a plate to the counter to load up on breakfast food.

"We're doing waffles this morning," said the woman, plopping two fat Belgian waffles on Bella's plate.

"Looks good," she said, scooping out some fresh strawberries to put on top. Bella loved strawberries.

"I hear you've got your big interview today," said the woman. "Good luck on that."

"Thanks," said Bella. Her stomach clenched.

When she sat down at the table opposite Kitty, she could only watch as the other ate her breakfast with gusto. Bella picked at her food, stealing a few bites of strawberry, but could not force herself to stomach any more—if she ate, she was sure she would be sick.

"You'd do better to eat," said Kitty through a mouthful of whipped cream. "Or else you might faint."

"I'm not a fainter," said Bella, a reluctant smile creeping over her face. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked, waving her fork in Bella's face. "They're good…" Bella sat back in her chair as Kitty sang the last word, waggling her eyebrows.

"No," said Bella, taking another strawberry from her plate. "I really can't just now."

"Well, if you're sure…" said Kitty. "When will you be back?"

"Sometime after lunch, I'd assume," said Bella. "I can't imagine it would take longer than that."

"Sure, sure…" Kitty was eying Bella's plate.

"Go for it," laughed Bella as Kitty, beaming from ear to ear, stabbed one of Bella's waffles with her fork and plunked it on her own plate.

"Well again, good luck," she said, her mouth stuffed with food. Bella could only shake her head, rising from her seat at the table. The cook was staring at Kitty, looking disapproving, but could do nothing when Bella shrugged and stepped away.

"You'll waste away if you don't eat, girl!" she warned as Bella left the dining room.

"I'll be fine!" she called back, ignoring Kitty's echoing laughter. Kitty was a strange entity—Bella sometimes wondered where she had come from, and how she had ended up here. She had made a point to speak to Bella everyday that she had been at Invictus, and Bella was grateful for the comradeship—she did not know how she would manage herself if she had to spend these strange, new days all on her own.

Slipping back up into her bedroom, Bella wondered if she might be able to get through one last chapter of _Jane Eyre_ before she had to leave.

* * *

Bella held Rosalie's written directions in her hands, the paper crushed in her fist, as she stood on the bustling street outside the busy coffee shop. She was staring up at the cute, old-fashioned building, complete with overhanging shades, little round tables, and a window display full of pastries and cakes. From her vantage point Bella could see inside the shop without being obvious—the long line of customers, the bustling barista, and the familiar face of the shop's owner were all visible to her. She watched as Tyler, the boy she only vaguely remembered, buzzed around to the espresso machine, then to the coffee maker, then to a French press sitting on the sideboard. She watched him prepare smoothies and tea, coffee and lattes, all with the ease and skill of someone comfortable with his work. Alice stood at the counter, doing the job that Bella knew she would be interviewing for—taking orders, fetching pastries, and handling the financial transactions.

Bella had never felt so nervous in her life as she did now—she did not know what was wrong with her. Perhaps it was because she had so much riding on this, because so much depended on a successful interview, that she could not banish the butterflies in her stomach or the dryness in her mouth. Slipping closer to the window to avoid being jostled, Bella wiped her hands on her pants and clutched the little handbag—something she had found in Rosalie's stash of business-friendly clothes—closer to her. Rose had been infinitely helpful when she'd arrived at the shelter with half an hour to spare before Bella had to leave, ushering her into a little storage room where she had everything someone might need for a job—business-casual pants and shirts, bags, shoes, and even, Bella noted with relief, a can of hairspray to help tame the unruly fly-aways on her head. Before she had set foot outside Rosalie had made sure that she had everything she needed—including, to Bella's surprise, some money she could use at a payphone, should anything strange or unwelcome happen. Rosalie had assured her, with all the fierceness of a mother cat, that should Bella find herself in any way alarmed or distressed while she was out on her own that one quick phone call—either to herself, or to the police—would ensure that she arrived back safely at the shelter. Bella doubted that anything would happen—she was interviewing at the establishment of a cop's wife, after all—but she was glad of the reassurance.

Glancing at the watch on her wrist Bella saw that she had five minutes to spare before she was expected inside. Gritting her teeth and forcing herself to move, Bella approached the glass-front door with every ounce of courage she could muster. Almost instantly, the smell of fresh coffee and what she thought might be vanilla wafted towards her, bringing an unbidden smile to her face. She quickly got out of the way—there were customers filing in after her—and stood off to the side, watching the crew at their work.

It was only when she saw Jasper stepping out from the back room, creeping up behind his wife, that Alice looked up and saw Bella waiting. Holding her breath, Bella saw Alice's wide, happy smile as she waved, kissing Jasper on the cheek before she left him at the mercy of the crowd. As quickly and easily as if he had been doing it for years, Bella watched as Jasper took over the register and began serving the long line, just as Alice, having slipped out from behind the counter, made her way over to Bella.

"You're here!" she said, beaming as she reached out to shake Bella's hand. Bella, praying that it wasn't still clammy, held it out to Alice, feeling the warm, strong, little fingers clasp around hers. Just as Bella began to let go, her eyes stuck to the floor, Alice took another step forward and pulled Bella into her arms, hugging her with warmth and eagerness as if Bella was an old, forgotten friend.

"Oh!" said Bella, patting Alice awkwardly on the back.

"Come on back to the office," said Alice, letting her go. "We can go back there and talk."

"Uh, sure," said Bella, flustered. "Thanks for…"

"Oh, not at all!" said Alice. "Rose gave me your resume and you just might be exactly what I'm looking for."

"I hope…"

"Back here!" said Alice, opening the little swinging door that would let them into the employee rooms. Bella slipped behind the counter, ducking away from Jasper as he reached around her for a spoon, and followed Alice into the back.

She wondered what Jasper would think if his wife hired her.

"Sit, sit," said Alice, opening the door to the office that Bella could only vaguely remember. She sat herself on the black sofa—the same one she had been lying on all those days ago—and waited, fixing her stare on the decorative carpet.

"So!" said Alice, setting herself down in her desk chair. "How's everything been? Has Rose been good to you?"

"Yeah," said Bella, clearing her throat. "Oh yeah. Everything's great. Rose is great."

Her voice sounded squeaky.

"I knew she would be," beamed Alice. "Jasper told me she was happy to take you."

Bella nodded.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you," continued Alice, tapping her long, painted fingernails on the desk. "It's been really crazy over here…"

"It's fine," said Bella, embarrassed. "I've been good…"

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Alice. "Shall we get started?"

Bella, still staring at the carpet, wondered if she would be sick—having Alice here before her, gentle and kind as she had been the last time Bella had seen her, was making her anxious. No matter how hard she tried to tamp it down, she could not help but recall the last time she had been here, when Alice had been the one to help her, when she had been so poorly and downtrodden that she had relied on the kindness and generosity of this woman, a stranger…

"You worked for six years at a diner in Washington?" asked Alice, and Bella glanced up.

"That's right."

"As a server?"

"Yes ma'am," said Bella, clearing her throat again.

"None of that _ma'am_ business," laughed Alice, pointing an accusing finger at Bella. "That makes me sound like someone's granny."

Bella cracked a smile.

"Sorry."

"Are you nervous?" asked Alice, her eyebrows pinching together. "You seem a little…"

Bella straightened up.

"I'm fine," she said, a sudden jolt of worry flowing through her—she would not screw this up. She could almost hear her father's voice, loud in her ears, repeating the unbidden advice he had given her once, on her eighteenth birthday. It had been his words of wisdom, she supposed, for his newly adult daughter— _If you want the job, impress them. Sell yourself._

"There's no reason to be, you know," said Alice quickly, shaking her head. "I mean, I don't know how much Rose told you, but this is really more of a formality…"

Bella's eyes snapped up.

"A formality?"

"You're the only applicant even somewhat qualified for anything I need you to do here," she shrugged. "Plus, Rosalie says you're eager, which is refreshing."

"I am," said Bella, nodding. "I want to work."

"Good," said Alice. "I'm sure you're a quick learner, so you'd do fine after your training."

Bella stared. She did not dare grow excited, lest what she believed was happening not work out…

"Do you have any experience on a cash register?" asked Alice, tapping her pen on the desk.

"Some," said Bella. Something in her, the part that was so anxious and riled up, settled down as Alice asked her questions she knew she would be able to answer. For the first time in a long while Bella felt as if she finally had something to offer—like she was not the useless, unemployed vagabond that had so desperately fled her home. As she sat before Alice now, talking about something she actually knew, Bella felt just a little bit more like the girl she had been before everything in Seattle had gone so horribly wrong.

Maybe, just _maybe_ , Bella would be able to regain her equilibrium. For the first time since she had arrived here she felt a glimmer of hope—perhaps this place, which had thus far been so hostile and unforgiving, would finally relent long enough to let her carve out a new home.

"I used to run cash for the boss when he was working in the office," Bella explained. "Just basic stuff—ringing up orders and making change."

"Good," said Alice, her eyes bright. "What about cleaning?"

"Restaurant cleaning," nodded Bella. "Tables, floors, sometimes kitchen duty, though that wasn't really my area…"

"We have a kitchen staff for that," said Alice, shaking her head. "I'm talking more like counters, displays, stuff like that."

"Anything you want me to do, I'd be happy to learn," said Bella, refusing to look away when Alice met her gaze—she should be confident, not shy. She would not let that hateful little voice in her head, the one that loved to tell her she was not good enough, or remind her of how stupid she was, cost her this opportunity.

She had to be brave.

"I'm pleased to hear it," said Alice, taking a deep breath as she leaned back in her chair.

Bella waited.

"Well…" said Alice, twirling her pen in her hand, "I think I can say that this has gone well."

"You think so?" asked Bella, relief flowing through her.

"Why?" asked Alice, an amused frown on her face. "You don't?"

"Honestly?" said Bella. "I have no idea."

Alice chuckled.

"When do you want to start?" she asked, and Bella's eyes widened.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," said Alice. "I know Jasper will approve, so there's no need to dawdle. If you want the job its yours."

"I'll start…" said Bella, her mind reeling. "When do you want me?"

"Whenever you're ready," countered Alice. "I'll need a day or two to get your schedule set up, but I can have you working by Tuesday, if that's what you want."

"Yes!" said Bella, an old, familiar rush of excitement coursing through her. She could barely remember the last time she had felt this—the strange, though not entirely alien feeling of accomplishment, of having achieved something so desperately sought.

"Wonderful!" said Alice, clapping her hands together. "I'll phone over to Invictus with the exact date and time?"

"Thanks," said Bella, rising from her seat. "Thanks so much…"

"You're welcome," said Alice, her face growing soft again. "I like you, Bella. I think we're going to get along very well."

"I hope so," said Bella, grinning.

"I'll see you in a few days then," she said. "Tell Rose I said hello."

"I will."

"Don't forget to say hi to Jasper on the way out—he might even give you a free drink!"

Bella laughed as she walked to the door, stumbling on the rug.

"I'm fine!" she called back, dismissing Alice's worried exclamation as her her heart pounded in her ears. Alice's chortles rang through to the front end and when Bella emerged Jasper turned, his frown turning into a smile when he saw her.

"She hired you?" he guessed, laughing at what was, undoubtedly, a stupidly cheerful grin on her face.

"Yeah," said Bella, slipping out from behind the counter. "Yeah, she did."

"Well, congrats," said Jasper. "Here." He reached for a paper cup he had set aside, the string from a teabag poking out from under the plastic lid. "Rose says you like the fruity kind."

Surprised, Bella took the cup in her hands, relishing its warmth on her cold fingers. She had not expected Rose to have spoken to Jasper about her, much less to discuss her tea preferences.

"Thanks," said Bella, taking a tentative sip. It was done perfectly—just the right amount of sugar, and it was not too hot to drink.

"We'll see you soon, Miss Bella," said Jasper, nodding politely as she stepped aside for a customer to pass. "We look forward to having you."

"Thanks," said Bella again, taking another drink of tea. "Thank you so much."

* * *

That night, when Bella sat in the common room among all the other women on her floor, she could not help but recount the details of her success that day. Bella was not a braggart, she had never been one to exalt her own successes, but she could not help the happy remembrance of her accomplishment. To her surprise, two women she barely knew—an older lady who had arrived some weeks before Bella, and a younger girl who was close to Kitty—had spent the day making a boxed cake, complete with an untidy _Congratulations!_ scrawled on top in green icing. Bella had laughed when she'd seen it, her embarrassment over being the center of attention ousted by her excitement for the week to come, and she, along with the other girls, each took a slice.

Rose had popped her head in as well, giving Bella a heartfelt congratulations on her day's success. She had, however, refused to be bullied into eating the cake—Bella wondered if she was concerned with her figure.

"You won't be here much longer, then, if you've already got yourself a job!" said T, slapping Bella so hard on the back that she coughed, choking on a bite of cake. T settled in next to her on the sofa.

"Maybe not," she wheezed, eyes streaming. T, ignoring Bella's plight, laughed.

"No 'maybe' about it, girl," she said. "It's how this place works—job is step 1. Next is a place to stay and Rose will have you all set up on your own."

Bella felt a thrill of excitement—that was all she had wanted.

"Rose knew you'd do well," said Kitty, sitting on Bella's other side. "The way she looked at you…"

"What do you mean?" asked Bella, frowning as she turned. "How did she look at me?"

"Rose just…" began T with a fond smile on her face, "knows."

"Knows?"

"Don't get me wrong," said Kitty. "She'll take anyone who needs her, so long as she's got the room. She'll keep you here as long as you need, but she has a special soft spot for people like you."

"People like me?" asked Bella, frowning. "What…?"

"You're not a drug addict," said Kitty, ticking off the list on her fingers. "You don't have a criminal record, you've got a good resume…"

"Yeah, but…"

"And _that_ ," interrupted T, shutting Bella down, "means that you've got a good chance at success."

"So does everyone else," Bella protested, her face red. "I mean I'm no different…"

"Some more than others," said T quietly, speaking in Bella's ear. "I mean, look at that one over there."

Bella looked up at the woman T was staring at—a short, skinny little lady with grey hair and thick glasses. Bella had never spoken to her and had only ever seen her at dinner, when she stole in for a plate of food and ran back out before anyone could say one word to her.

"This is her fourth stint here," said T, looking away so as not to draw attention. "And Rose only opened five years ago."

Bella frowned.

"No one really knows where she came from, but no matter what Rose does for her, she always ends up back on the streets and in dire need of rehab. She's been arrested more times than I can count, all for drug possession, and while Rose tries to help, there's not much she can really do. I mean, at her age…" T looked at the woman again, "it would take a miracle to retrain her."

Bella glanced down, embarrassed. She did not know the woman, but she was pretty sure she would not like it if she knew that Bella and T—two people she barely knew—were talking about her.

"So you can understand it," said Kitty, "that when someone young comes along who can actually benefit from this place, Rose gets a little excited."

"Right," said Bella, filling her mouth with the last bite of cake from her plate. She did not know what to say. Tanya, eyes bright and lips pursed, could not hold back her laugh as she thumped Bella on the back again. Bella tried not to wince.

"Anyways, congratulations," she said, standing up and stretching. "You'll let us know how you do, right?"

"Sure," said Bella, swallowing her bite. "Yeah."

"You've got some time left," said Kitty in a whisper as T, satisfied with their conversation, left the couch to mingle with the cake-makers. "I mean, it's not like you can just run and get yourself a place without a little bit saved up…"

Bella smiled. She was still a little shocked—she could not believe, though she knew it was true, what had transpired today. She hadn't imagined, never in a million years, that her anxiety and nausea from the morning would be banished by nightfall.

By the time the cake had disappeared and the room had grown dark, illuminated by the many lamps set out on tables and shelves, Bella was yawning and exhausted. The clock on the wall read 11:30 and although she knew it was past the lights out time set by the floor, no one had yet retreated to their bedrooms. Bella was curled up in an armchair, a knitted blanket wrapped around her legs, as she watched the others begin to say their goodbyes, a few retreating to their rooms.

"You gonna stay out here?" asked Kitty, glancing over at Bella. Bella had retrieved her novel earlier in the evening and it sat open on her lap, the words of Jane and Mr. Rochester long forgotten during her people-watching.

"I think so," yawned Bella, resting her head on the armrest. "I think I'll read for a little while."

"Alright then," said Kitty. "Have a good night. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Sure," said Bella. "Goodnight."

When the room had gone silent and still, Bella turned her blurry eyes to the page before her, blinking to fight off the tiredness threatening to overtake her. When she could no longer hear anyone up—no one in the bathroom, or in the little kitchenette downstairs—Bella sighed and snuggled deeper into the plush chair, resting the book on her arm.

It was sometime later—she did not know just how long—when she was jolted awake by a sudden, urgent whisper in her ear.

"Bella!" the voice hissed. "Bella, wake up!"

"Hm?" she grumbled, shifting carefully in her seat. For a moment she was confused—this was not her bed… where was her pillow? But when she heard the thick, heavy paperback fall to the floor, Bella suddenly remembered where she was. When she cracked her eyes open the room was still dark, only the ticking of the clock could be heard over Rose's steady breathing. The woman was kneeling beside her, a hand on her knee, shaking her gently awake.

"You have to get up," said Rose, and Bella noticed immediately that she did not sound happy.

"Sorry," said Bella, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in the chair. Was it against the rules to fall asleep outside of her bedroom? Bella had never asked…

"Come with me," said Rose, her voice low. "Quickly."

"What's wrong?" she asked, rising to her feet. She was still dressed as she had been for the job interview—the nice, stiff dress pants and a blue button-down.

"You're not in trouble," said Rose quickly, peering down dark hallways to see if they were being watched. "The police are here…"

"What?" demanded Bella, halting in her tracks.

"Come downstairs," said Rose again. "They want to talk to you."

"What did I do?" she asked stupidly, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she stumbled down the stairs. "I swear, I didn't…"

"You're not in trouble," said Rose again, shaking her head. _"I_ called them."

"You?" asked Bella, bewildered. "What…?"

"I'll explain when we get downstairs," said Rose. "I don't want everyone knowing your business."

"I didn't…"

"You're safe, Bella," said Rose suddenly, stopping dead at the bottom of the stairs and wheeling around to face her. Bella felt Rose's warm, soft hands on her cheeks as she forced her to look up. When Bella met her gaze she saw that Rose looked worried—sad, even—and Bella wondered what could have possibly happened for such a look to appear on her face.

"What…?" she asked again, pulling away as tears threatened to brim over. "Why…?"

Rose let out a harsh sigh, taking Bella by the hand. Bella said nothing more, stumbling numbly behind Rose as she led Bella into her office, where two uniformed, strange police offers were sitting.

"Thank you, Miss Hale," said one officer, reaching out to shake Rose's hand. "Miss Swan."

Bella stared between the three of them, her face flushing red as she fought to remember, to wake up and _think,_ just what it was that she could have done. Why had Rosalie called these men here?

"Bella, sit," said Rose gently, ushering her into a chair. "You're not in trouble."

"You keep saying that," said Bella, shaking her head. "What's going on?"

Rosalie and the officers stared at her.

"You really don't know, honey?" asked Rose, and Bella watched, silent, as she reached into a drawer on her desk. No one, not even the officers, spoke as Rose pulled out a copy of a magazine—something you would pick up at the checkout of any supermarket—and put it gently in front of Bella on the desk.

She stared down at it.

 _Emmett Swan's Heartbreaking Plea: Bring My Sister Home_

Bella froze.

"Are you aware that you're listed as a missing person out of Seattle?" asked the first officer, removing a little notebook from his breast pocket.

"I…" said Bella, her heart pounding in her ears. "No… I…"

"Honey, you're in all of them—the magazines," said Rose softly, looking alarmed as Bella wheeled around to face her again. "They're all telling the same story."

"I…" Bella could not speak.

"Miss?"

"How did he…" Bella shook her head, glancing down at the front cover again. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears as she tried to clear her head, tried to make some sense of what she was seeing on the front page of this tabloid. She had never thought, never _imagined_ , that she would ever grace the cover.

But there she was, in all her seventeen-year-old glory, smiling shyly up at the camera in the picture she'd been forced to take in front of the old truck that she'd lost.

"Your brother reported you missing in Washington," said the second officer gently. "When he went back to your home and no one knew where you had gone, he went to the police…"

"The letter," said Bella stupidly, recalling the note she'd left in the cupboard above the stove at her old house. "I left him a…"

She took a deep breath. It was not enough.

"He doesn't even…" said Bella, shaking her head. "He hasn't…"

"Are you okay?" asked Rose, rising from her seat. Bella could feel the blood draining from her face, could feel the dizziness setting in as she stared down at the magazine, unable to make sense of it.

Why would Emmett, of all people, go to such lengths to find her? Why had he, who she hadn't even seen in over a decade, care enough to enlist the help of the national press?

When Bella, unable to think clearly, jumped out of her seat with the intent to leave—she could not sit in this room any longer, confined as she was— she knew instantly that she had made a mistake. Where she had been a little dizzy beforehand, she now experienced such vertigo that she could have sworn the entire building was spinning.

The last thing she saw was Rosalie's startled, wide-eyed face as she lunged forward, trying to catch Bella before she hit the floor.

 **A/N: Reunion, anyone?**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Emmett held the phone to his ear, listening to it ring as he prowled Marcus' office. Marcus, reclined in his office chair, watched Emmett with mild apprehension, never taking his eyes away as the other paced, his agitation almost palpable. Marcus was not sure, though he thought he had some idea, just exactly what Emmett was waiting to hear, just what it was that had made him so frantic.

"They might not be…"

"They're home," growled Emmett. Marcus fell silent.

"What is it exactly that you're looking for?" he asked as Emmett took the phone away from his ear, watching it with desperation so intense that Marcus was surprised that the phone was still intact.

"The cupboard," said Emmett again, shaking his head. "I already told you…"

"You told me nothing," Marcus retorted. "I only want to help…"

"I know," said Emmett, pinching his nose. "I'm sorry. I know."

"What's in the cupboard?"

"I don't know."

"So what…"

"I didn't check it when I was in the house!" said Emmett, tossing himself down on the sofa in the corner. "I didn't even think, I was so distracted…"

"What is this cupboard?" asked Marcus, reaching over to take the phone as Emmett tried to dial again. It would be the third time in less than ten minutes, and Marcus would not have his client involved in a legal skirmish.

"When we were kids," began Emmett, not even bothering to protest the confiscation of his phone, "Bella and I used to use it as a kind of hiding place."

"And you think she left you something?" asked Marcus.

"I have no idea," admitted Emmett, tapping his foot. "But I have to try. It's the only place left…"

"What if there's nothing there?" asked Marcus.

"Then I don't know," shrugged Emmett, glancing at the clock. It was already three in the afternoon.

"Well," said Marcus, "you've left them two messages. I'm sure they'll get back to you."

"Have you figured anything out on your end?" asked Emmett suddenly, glancing to make sure the office door was closed.

"Not a thing," frowned Marcus. It had been some time since Marcus had promised to conduct an investigation, to determine just whether or not Bella had ever actually made contact with the office. Emmett knew that she'd had the number—the only number, he suspected, that she had ever seen for him, given her lack of letters. Emmett did not know his sister anymore—and he could not pretend as though he did—but from what he'd been told by the Webers it was not in Bella's character to simply run off without telling anyone where she had gone. There were only two options left—either Bella had left him a note, which had gotten lost somewhere along the way, or she had called the office and left him a message.

Either way, Emmett _would_ find out.

"What _have_ you learned?" asked Emmett, forcing himself to be still. "Do you know if she…"

"We have two unknown numbers that came through that we can't account for, and both of them came from Seattle. One was only used once, but the other called at least four times."

Emmett clenched his fists.

"Who did she talk to?" he demanded, his voice dark. Whoever it was could be sure to kiss their job goodbye—Emmett would not rest until this injustice was atoned for.

"That's just it," frowned Marcus. "We don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" demanded Emmett. "It's your job to know!"

"Calm down," he chastised. "We're working on it."

"Well…"

"Well nothing. The calls came in at different times of the day, and we have no way of knowing which girl picked up the phone. Vicky swears it wasn't her and so does Sal."

Emmett stared at him.

"How do you plan on finding out?" he asked finally, resisting the urge to shout. "If you don't know which…"

"We're auditing the phones," said Marcus gently. "But it takes time. Then when we find out exactly which line the call came in on we can match it to whoever was on shift at that time."

"And then?"

"And then I'll terminate the one responsible," said Marcus easily. "I can't have someone like that working for me—they've endangered my whole business."

"I won't sue," said Emmett, cracking a reluctant smile. "I know you're scared I will…"

Marcus simply watched him.

"We've worked well together all these years," said Marcus, taking his feet down from the desk. "I'd hate to see that fall apart."

"It won't," vowed Emmett. "So long as you're sure to follow through."

"You have my word," said Marcus, leaning further over the desk. "Whoever is responsible will be held to account."

There was a long pause.

"I also have to ask…" began Marcus again, heaving a great sigh. "Chelsea has been on my ass all week, and the production company are getting antsy."

"Right," said Emmett. Over these past weeks, he had almost forgotten about work—he had almost forgotten that he had been in the middle of shooting when he'd dashed off, or that he had a fake relationship to keep up with.

"Chelsea says Heidi is ready to pull out," continued Marcus. "She's got what she's needed from you, anyways…"

"Let her go," said Emmett dismissively. He had never felt an ounce of affection for the girl, nor was she doing him any good if they never saw each other—she had been a thorn in his side ever since they had signed their binding contracts, and Emmett would be glad to be rid of her.

Not to mention that if she was the one to break their agreement, then she would be the one required to pay him for his trouble.

"If you're sure," said Marcus, making a note on a pad of paper. "I suppose she's not really…"

"Yeah," said Emmett. "Let her go."

"When do you think you'll be ready to return to the set?" asked Marcus. "That director is a bit of a workhorse…"

"I don't know," said Emmett, rubbing his eyes. "I have to wait and see what happens with…"

"The cupboard," finished Marcus, nodding. He jotted down another note. "I'll let them know that things are still tentative."

"Thanks," said Emmett, glancing up at his agent. Emmett had never really thought about it before, but he suddenly found himself wondering where he would be without Marcus by his side. Ever since he had arrived in Los Angeles a lowly and destitute college dropout, Marcus had never given up on him. Emmett had travelled from agency to agency when he'd first arrived, desperate for someone to represent him, even with his meager experience. When he'd found Marcus's office, a small, derelict building in the middle of downtown L.A., Emmett had expected the same reception he'd received everywhere else—polite, if not a little disdainful, refusal. No one wanted to take on this young nobody who was just the same as all the other nobodies prowling the streets of Hollywood looking for their big break. Back when Emmett had been new, he had been just as unremarkable, just as unrecognizable, as the next Joe on the street.

It had been Marcus, new to the business as he was, that had met with Emmett and agreed on a tentative deal—Marcus would find him some local theater gigs, maybe get him some auditions for network shows, and in return, a portion of Emmett's profit would go to him. Emmett had only scored the one role before Marcus had arrived on the scene—the role of Agrippa in _Antony and Cleopatra_ , the role for which he'd been scouted and contracted back in Seattle.

It had been Marcus, within a few weeks of Emmett's last stage performance, that had garnered him his first role on television as an extra in an episode of _CSI_. He'd spoken only one line in the entire episode, but Emmett remembered sitting on the floor of the dingy living room with his trust-fund baby landlord, waiting for his two seconds of fame.

It had also been by Marcus's helping hand that Emmett had landed his first role in a feature film—a comedy—and it had been Marcus who fielded the scripts and requests that had flooded in afterwards.

Without him, Emmett might never have made his big break, and as he sat before him now, in a much nicer office in a much better area of town, Emmett wondered if he had been neglectful.

"I don't think I say thank you enough," said Emmett gruffly, glancing up. Marcus smiled.

"You say thanks enough," he replied and Emmett laughed, knowing he was talking about the hefty paycheck he got each time Emmett landed a role. "You're not even close to my most difficult."

Emmett snorted. Even though he and Marcus had started on the bottom together—he as a lowly stage actor and Marcus as an agent with no clients—Emmett knew that Marcus's prestige had risen with his own. As Emmett grew in popularity so did Marcus, and about three years into Emmett's film career, Marcus was inundated with requests and offers.

Marcus had more high-profile clientele under his belt now than Emmett had ever met in his life, and Emmett had only ever _heard_ the horror stories of divas and misanthropists.

"We got here together, you and I," said Marcus, cracking his knuckles. "I like to think that stands for something."

"It does," said Emmett. If truth be told, Emmett was beginning to think that Marcus was the closest friend he had—without him, Emmett was not sure who he would spend his time with. Although high school Emmett would have been shocked to know it, his famous, adult self had grown into something of a loner—he did not associate much with people, either in his circle or out of it. The only people he entertained at his house were his coworkers—co-stars and crew that Emmett liked to send off with aplomb once a project had finished up.

It was only Marcus—stoic, aloof, and shrewd Marcus—that had ever come over for drinks on the weekend, or joined Emmett for dinner on his nights off. It had been Marcus, not anyone else, that had jumped to Emmett's aid when this whole fiasco had exposed itself, and it had been he—dependable and strong—who had stood by to run interference while Emmett had tried to make some sense of the new developments in his life.

"I'm glad it does," said Marcus, grinning. "I know you're my client and I kind of work for you, but you and I knew each other before either one of us was really an agent or an actor."

"I'll drink to that," said Emmett, raising his glass. Marcus, his calm, stony face breaking into a grin, shook his head and took the glass away.

"You don't drink to something with water," he scolded, placing the glass on the window sill behind him. Emmett laughed—a real, hearty laugh—when Marcus unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, pouring them each a small measure.

"To us," said Marcus mockingly, holding up his glass. "To friends. Sort of."

"Sort of," laughed Emmett, taking his portion. The two of them tipped the glasses carefully, and Emmett just barely resisted the urge to wince as he swallowed. It had been a long while since he'd felt that burn in his throat, and even so, he had never been a big drinker. Marcus was immune to nothing when it came to him, however, and laughed shamelessly when Emmett put the glass down.

"You're out of practice," he teased. "I've seen you drink more than that…"

"It's been a while," said Emmett. Marcus raised the bottle again, eyebrows quirked.

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself," said Marcus, pouring himself another portion. He swallowed that back as well, not even pausing to blink when it slid easily down his throat.

"Do you want to wait here until they call?" asked Marcus, glancing at the clock. It now read 3:30.

"Might as well, if you don't mind," said Emmett. He did not know what kind of hours Jude Allen, or her husband, Andrew, worked, so he had no idea when he could expect the phone call to come in.

"Well, might as well make yourself useful, then," said Marcus. Emmett was surprised when he reached into another drawer, pulling out a stack of papers.

"What's all that?" asked Emmett, frowning. Glancing at the top he saw the familiar print of a script—though he had never seen this many all at once.

"These all came while you were in Seattle," explained Marcus. "You're in high demand. Go through and pick some."

"Seriously?" asked Emmett, taking the tall stack in his hands. He did not know how he felt—on one hand, he was seriously annoyed at the timing, but on the other, he knew that this would be great for his career.

"No one's asking you commit," said Marcus gently, seeing his hesitation. "They just want you to look. And of course, if you really like any of them, you're free to accept."

Emmett stared down at the stack, pulling the first one from the pile.

 _SCENE: A moon orbiting a distant planet. The ground is wet and muddy and a tall spaceship is parked off to the left. Camera pans to the sky, starry with visible exoplanets. Enter Carson Madley, dressed in full astronaut gear, scanning the landscape._

 _MADLEY: Madley to base. Do you have a copy?_

 _BASE: (through radio) 10-4._

Emmett snorted, laughing to himself, and continued to read.

* * *

Emmett sat, a fixture in Marcus's office, until well into the evening. Although he meticulously read through three scripts Emmett could not focus enough to establish whether or not he wanted to take any roles, and he instead resorted to observing Marcus as he worked.

As he watched, he began to wonder whether or not he had ever really seen Marcus at his daily tasks. Emmett did not recall ever knowing the number of phone calls he made, or even more alarming—the number of calls that rang through to his office. Emmett knew from experience that the desk girls, Sal and Vicky, were responsible for fielding calls and sending only the most important through to Marcus himself, and Emmett began to wonder just how many Hollywood crises Marcus solved before breakfast each morning.

If Emmett's phone rang like that—non-stop all day—he would surely go mad. As it was, sitting in the office, Emmett could not help but grow irritated as ring after ring sounded out, Marcus picking up each and every time. Emmett overheard a casting crisis, an unexpected international trip that would interfere with filming, and even, to his deep amusement, another request for a fabricated relationship, just like the one he had arranged for Emmett.

It was well past 7 o'clock when the calls finally died down, and even then it only after Marcus called the front desk to ask the girl to put them all through to voicemail.

"I'll regret that in the morning," he sighed, looking defeated, "but I'm done for the night."

"Don't blame you," said Emmett, his thumb flicking through the thick stack of papers on the seat next to him. "That was crazy."

"That was average," corrected Marcus. "You should see it on a premiere day."

"That bad?"

"That bad," confirmed Marcus. Neither man spoke for a long moment, each relishing the silence of the office. Emmett was not sure if it was the lingering effects of the ceaseless jangle of the telephone or simply the sudden level of quiet in the room, but his ears were ringing.

"How much longer are you going to wait tonight?" asked Marcus, glancing at the still and quiet cell phone on the table. "What if they're not coming home?"

"I'll wait until you leave," said Emmett resolutely, picking up the iPhone and turning it over in his hands. "If you'll have me."

"Whatever you want to do," said Marcus easily, clicking on his computer. "I'll be here for a while yet, sorting through this bullshit…"

He gestured to the stack of papers and Post-its that he'd accumulated throughout the day, peeling the first one from the stack and reading what he'd written. Emmett could just barely see the computer screen from his vantage point on the sofa, and he watched as Marcus opened up an email tab and began to type.

Opening his phone, Emmett found a game to amuse himself as he waited, leg shaking, for the little thing to ring.

"Marcus?" he said, after ten long minutes of silence.

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," said Emmett. To his embarrassment, he felt his face heat up—the one sure sign that he had done wrong. His red face had been exactly what would rat him out to Charlie every time he had done something he shouldn't have in his youth, and he knew it would not escape Marcus's notice.

Marcus simply stared at him.

"You're forgiven," he said eventually, though Emmett sensed a new hardness in his voice.

"I just never…"

"It's fine," said Marcus again, shaking his head. He had returned to the computer screen. "I get it."

"I just never thought she'd come up, you know? And if she did, I never thought it would be like this…"

"Look," said Marcus finally, turning away from the screen. "As much as I'd love to punish you for keeping her a secret, I think you're being punished enough without my help."

Emmett frowned, picking at a thread on his pants.

"If I had told you, this wouldn't have been as big as it is…" said Emmett, shaking his head. "You handled it well, but…"

"I'm not concerned for my business," said Marcus, and Emmett was surprised to hear a note of true sympathy in his voice. "That's why I'm here—to make sure you're working and to help you out when you get into any kind of situation."

"Right," said Emmett, cracking his neck. "I just…"

Why would Marcus not simply let him apologize?

"I was concerned for my _friend_ ," said Marcus gently, refusing to meet Emmett's gaze once again. "I've known you for twelve years, man, and I never even knew you had a sister."

"I'm sorry," said Emmett again, shoulders slumped.

"I know you are."

"Are we good?" asked Emmett. He was not used to this feeling, one he had not felt since high school—the strange, cumbersome worry that he would lose a friend, that because of something he had done, someone he cared about would walk out.

"Em," said Marcus, shaking his head. "We're good. I promise."

Emmett nodded, fixing his gaze on the carpet.

"Just no more lies," said Marcus suddenly. Emmett could not help the small, ironic smile that slipped onto his face.

"There are no more lies to tell," he said. "What more could I possibly have to say?"

"Well, you never know," said Marcus, scowling at his computer screen. "As has been amply proven, I can't possibly know everything…"

Emmett flushed again.

"I'm sorry…"

"You're forgiven," repeated Marcus. "But that doesn't mean I'll just forget. When you find her, you bring her into this office so I can meet her."

"Sure," said Emmett. "Of course."

"If she wants to see you, that is," he added, and Emmett's stomach clenched.

"Right," he sighed. He could only hope, though he had no real reason to believe she would, that Bella would be able to forgive him for all the years he'd left her alone. He could only hope that some part of her—any part, really—was the same as he remembered from their youth. He could only wish that some part of her, deep inside, was still the same happy, sweet little girl he remembered—the gentle soul that Emmett could only hope he hadn't ruined.

"You'll…" Marcus began to speak, but before he could get more than one word out, Emmett's phone began to vibrate. Emmett, surprised, nearly dropped it when he went to snatch it up, catching it just in time before it hit the floor.

"Hello?" he said, swiping to accept the call. "Hello?"

"Yes, hi," said the timid little voice on the other end. "This is Jude Allen, returning your call?"

"Oh, thank god," said Emmett, laughing as he stood. The papers next to him slid to the floor. "Thank you for calling back."

"It sounded urgent," said the lady. "Did you hear anything about your sister?"

"No, no," said Emmett, clearing his throat. "I have a question to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Have you emptied all your kitchen cupboards yet?" he asked, pacing the office once more. Marcus tapped a pen on the desk, getting his attention, and offered it to him for notes.

"I think so…" she said, sounding confused, and Emmett sat in front of the desk, doodling on the pad of paper.

"The one over the stove," said Emmett quickly. "That one. Have you looked in there?"

"I don't…"

"Did you find a letter? A note? Something left in there?" he asked desperately, trying not to sound too pushy. He heard shuffling on the other end.

"I haven't seen anything…" she said, and Emmett could hear a chair being slid across the linoleum. "Let me get up and look."

The shuffling and bumping on the other end was nearly deafening to Emmett, who clutched the phone to his ear with such urgency that it almost hurt. He heard Jude's hands scraping around the shelves, probing, and when he heard her gasp, his knees went weak.

"Did you find it?" he asked, hearing the distinct rustling of paper on the other end.

"There's an envelope," she said, breathless. "I don't know how we missed it…"

"What does it say?" asked Emmett. Marcus was looking avidly at him, almost as if he might be able to hear through the phone if he stared hard enough.

"It has your name on the front," she said, and Emmett heard her open it. "It's a letter…"

"What does it say?" he asked. The line was silent.

"It's…" began the lady anxiously. "It's signed _Bella_ …"

"Can you read it to me?" asked Emmett, swallowing hard against the tears threatening to fall. His heart was hammering.

"It's…" said Jude, sounding teary. "I'd rather not. Do you have a fax number?"

"Fax?" asked Emmett, looking at Marcus. Marcus jumped into action at once, writing the number on the notepad.

"818-555-1304," Emmett recited, hearing Jude scribble the number.

"My husband just got his fax machine set up this morning," she said quickly, and Emmett heard her running up the stairs. He recognized the sound of the creaky top step—the one that had ratted him out him many times when he'd tried to sneak out as a teenager.

"I'll fax it to you," said Jude. "I'm just setting it up now. Is there anything else?"

"Could you possibly mail me the original?" asked Emmett, praying it would not be too much to ask. "Or I could call and have someone pick it up from you?"

"I'll have Andrew send it in the morning when he leaves for work," said Jude, sniffling. "That's no trouble. Is there anything else?"

"No," said Emmett, breathing a deep sigh as he heard the fax machine on her end, feeding the paper through. "No, thank you so much."

"You're welcome," said Jude. "I really hope you find her."

"I will," vowed Emmett. "I'm sure I will."

Emmett wheeled around, eyes wide, when the fax machine to the left of Marcus' desk fired up and began to print, a copy of a handwritten, messily scrawled letter feeding out of the bottom.

"We just got it," said Emmett, breathing a deep sigh. "Thank you so much. If there's ever anything I can do for you, you've just got to say the word…"

"Oh, no," laughed Jude. "Anything I can do to help."

"You're an angel," said Emmett again, reaching over and snatching the papers as they fell from the tray. He could barely keep his eyes off of the words he could just make out—a messy scrawl that he did not recognize.

"I'll let you go then," said Jude. "Good luck."

"Thanks again," said Emmett. He waited until he heard the click of the phone on the other end before he took the phone down from his own ear, placing it gently on the desk.

"Do you want some privacy?" asked Marcus, his voice soft as he eyed the letter. "I can…" He jerked his head towards the door.

"Sure," said Emmett, more grateful than ever when Marcus stood and left, closing the door firmly behind him. Emmett watched him set himself up at the reception desk, firing up the computer to begin his work once again. Once Emmett saw that he was fully immersed in his email and social media accounts he sat down carefully on the sofa once more, not bothering to pick up the scripts that had fallen on the floor.

 _Dear Emmett,_

 _If you're here at the house, then I'm sure you already know what's happened. I don't know exactly how to say it, so I think I'll just come out with it: Dad passed away. He was bad for a little while beforehand—they never did find out what exactly caused it. All I know is that one day he was sick, the next he was in the hospital, and then, all of a sudden, he was gone. I'm sorry you're finding out this way. I didn't want to tell you like this, but it looks like this is the only way I'll be able to tell you myself. I have no idea what your home phone number is (if you even have one), and I can't even begin to fathom where you might live, so I tried calling the number dad had stashed away in the back of his address book. It's for your talent agency. I spoke with a woman, Vicky, but she wouldn't help me and so I don't know how to contact you._

 _When you find this letter, you'll also notice that I'm no longer living at our house. When dad got sick, he took out a loan to pay for some of his medical expenses. I didn't know about it until I started getting phone calls from the bank, and when I got the papers I found out that he'd put the house up as his asset. I was working part time at Mike's Diner (you wouldn't know about it—I think it opened after you left), but I don't anymore, and so I've got no way to pay them back. They're taking the house back tomorrow and I'll be long gone by then. I can't be here when they come for it—I don't know that I'll be able to leave if I don't do it soon._

 _I know you have no way of knowing about dad, or about anything that goes on here, but I really, really wish you were here. When I first called you the day after it happened, I was so upset and I wanted nothing to do with you. I was so angry—why did you leave? Why didn't you ever write or call? But the more I sit here, alone in this house, the more I realize that I miss you more than I hate you. I don't know what I could have done for you to walk out like you did, but whatever it is I hope you've forgiven me by now. I hope you're not angry._

Emmett paused here, clenching his eyes shut. He could just imagine her, sitting at the little dining table writing these words, while he was off doing God knows what…

Emmett had never hated his father more than he did at this moment—if Charlie had only abandoned his pride, allowed his daughter to read the letters he had sent her, then none of this would have happened. Bella was right—Emmett _had_ left her alone with their father, but he had never imagined that she hadn't been receiving his letters. He had thought the same about her as she had about him—that she did not want to contact him. He had believed, however ludicrously, that his sister, who had once been so loving and kind, had grown bitter. He had been so sure, so utterly and totally convinced, that their father's rhetoric had spoiled things—that she, like him, had grown to resent Emmett for his desire for another life, for his desire, no matter how indirectly, to leave her.

Emmett swallowed hard and continued reading.

 _When you do find this, I'll be long gone from here. I can't stay in Seattle with nothing—I can't sit here knowing that I'm the one who lost our home. There's nothing left for me here—I have no job, no school, and no friends left. Angela moved to Chicago for school, and since I left the diner, I don't know anyone else besides Mr. Ferguson. He offered to help, and it was kind of him to do so, but I can't take advantage of him like that._

 _I packed up what I could fit into the back of my truck, including some of your old stuff. I have your yearbooks and that bear from your shelf—the one you loved as a kid. I hope I'll be able to give it back to you, once I get where I'm going. I've decided on California, just like you did all those years ago. I still have the letter you wrote me, the one where you told me all about the palm trees and beaches. Maybe, once I get there, I'll be able to see just what it was that drew you away—I hope it draws me away too._

 _The sky is getting lighter now and the streetlights just went out. I'd better get going—I want to be out of here before Mr. Ferguson wakes up. If I wait and say goodbye, he'll never let me leave. Soon enough, I'll be in California too. Maybe I'll see you around._

 _I love you and I miss you. I'm sorry._

 _Bella._

Emmett held the paper—the copy of the original—tightly in his fist. He could feel it crumpling in his hand though he did not care in that moment, and he had to clench his eyes shut against the stinging tears that were coursing down his cheeks, pride be damned.

That's how Marcus found him, having peeked through the window and seen him standing, stiff and sad with the letter crumpled in his fist. Emmett did not notice at first when the man came slowly inside, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Em?"

Emmett did not respond.

"Look, man…" began Marcus, taken aback by the tears coursing down the other's face. Though Marcus was sure he _had_ cried before, sometime in the distant past, he had never seen it in the flesh. Marcus had never been good with feelings—he was better at logistics, at planning, and at finding solutions. He had dealt with his fair share of tears in this office—rejected clients, angry clients, clients whose pay check hadn't been just what they'd expected…

But none of those people, those inconsequential, transient people, had been _Emmett._

"Hey," said Marcus, patting the larger man awkwardly on the back. "Come on, man. Sit down."

Emmett sat roughly on the couch again, his head in his hands as he fought to rein himself back in. Marcus knew that he must be embarrassed—Emmett was not someone to cry in front of others—but he also knew that whatever had caused this outburst must have been bad enough to warrant such a reaction.

If Marcus could be sure of one thing, it was that Emmett Swan was not a drama queen.

"What did it say?" asked Marcus, resisting the urge to take the paper and read it for himself. _This is private,_ he told himself. _A private correspondence between a man and his sister… A family matter…_

"She's here," said Emmett, taking a deep, shaking breath. "She was never in Seattle."

"We'd already figured that out," said Marcus. "We knew that from the truck…"

"And it was Vicky."

Marcus went cold.

"What?"

"Vicky's the one who took her calls," said Emmett, and Marcus could hear the anger seeping back into his voice. "She says so, right here…"

Emmett thrust the second page of the letter at him and pointed roughly to the name, penned in his sister's own handwriting, revealing what weeks of Marcus's internal investigation could not.

"Then she's done, mark my words," said Marcus, shaking his head as he examined the page. "I should've known…"

Emmett did not contradict him.

"First thing tomorrow, I'll have her in here and ask her what was said," said Marcus. "Don't worry about a thing—everything will be handled."

"She thinks I'm angry," said Emmett suddenly, and Marcus backtracked.

"Who does?"

"Bella," said Emmett, looking up. He was no longer crying, but the evidence on his face was irrefutable—Marcus had never seen this kind of sadness, this deep-seated, festering defeat that was brewing in him. Marcus had never before done what he was about to do, and he was almost positive he would never do it again. It went against everything he believed—especially considering that this was his client—but in that moment, seeing Emmett so upset, Marcus was certain of only one thing. This man was not just a client—he was a friend.

Emmett could not hide his shock and surprise when Marcus reached over and drew him in for a rough, stiff hug.

"It'll be fine, Em," he said, thumping him on the back. "You'll see. Everything will work out."

Emmett patted him gently in return, and when Marcus pulled away he laughed at the look on Emmett's face.

"I _can_ be nice, you know," teased Marcus. He went to sit behind his desk again. "Just because I _don't…"_

"And here I was, thinking you were a robot," said Emmett, a dark chuckle escaping him. "It's nice to know you're mortal like the rest of us."

* * *

It was three in the morning, as Emmett dozed lightly on the couch in his sitting room, when he was awoken by his cell phone jangling in his ear. He woke with a start, unsure of exactly where he was, and only just avoided tumbling off the sofa. In the light from the kitchen, which Leah had left on for him, Emmett found the little ringing phone halfway under the couch, answering it with a groggy voice.

" _Hello?"_

"Get up, Emmett," said the voice on the other end.

"Do you know what time it is, Marcus?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "I've gotta be up in the morning…"

"No, you don't," said Marcus. As he woke, Emmett could hear the excitement in his voice. "Get out to your car as soon as you can."

"Am I driving to any particular place?" asked Emmett crossly, grumbling as he stood. His back cracked when he stretched. "What are you…?"

"They found her."

Emmett stood still.

"What did you just say?" he asked, glancing out at the clock again. 3:03.

"I said," repeated Marcus, "that they found her. I just got the call."

"Why did _you_ get it?!" demanded Emmett, darting to the door. He threw on the t-shirt he'd taken off when he got home, not caring if it was dirty, and slammed his feet into a pair of sneakers.

 _Where were his keys?_

"Because this office is listed as your public number, you know that," said Marcus. "The police received a phone call just about an hour and a half ago, and they just confirmed…"

"Where is she?" demanded Emmett, rushing out the door. He jammed the key into his Mercedes in the garage, barely containing his impatience as the garage door slid slowly up. When he wheeled out of his yard, he was glad he had no neighbours close enough to hear him—the squealing of his tires would surely wake the neighbourhood.

Emmett jammed the car phone button on his dash impatiently as he tossed the phone in the seat beside him, waiting for Marcus' voice to reappear.

"…Medical Center…"

"Sorry?" said Emmett, cursing as he turned up the volume. "Where is she?"

"Cedars-Sinai Medical Center," said Marcus quickly. "She was…"

Emmett could not hear over his own panicked breathing as he stopped dead in the street, wheeling his car around in an illegal U-turn. He was going the wrong way.

"Are you still there?" asked Marcus.

"Yes," said Emmett, speeding down the road. "Yes, I'm here."

"I'll meet you down there," said Marcus, and Emmett could vaguely hear the rumble of his own car. "Meet me outside the ER."

"Sure," grunted Emmett, ignoring the beep that followed. When the phone call ended Emmett was startled by the loud, pounding rock music from his satellite radio, and turned the dial down angrily as he drove on.

Although it was the middle of the night, there was no lack of traffic for him to contend with as he drove. He was rarely out this late—he liked to be in at a decent time, when he could—but even so he could not even spare a glance for the people on the street. He was sure, when he was stopped at a street corner, that a pair of women who crossed in front of him noticed who he was—they had pointed and waved—but Emmett had no time for either of them. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel until the light turned green, and he sped away so fast that he was sure he would have gotten a ticket, if he had been noticed by any passing police officers.

When he pulled into the parking lot of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center he saw Marcus' car immediately. Marcus waved him forward and Emmett pulled up beside him, rolling down his window.

"I spoke with security. Go park in the employee lot and I'll meet you at the back doors."

"What happened?" demanded Emmett, refusing to roll his window back up. "Why is she here?"

Was she seriously hurt? Had there been an accident? Was she…?

"Meet me and I'll tell you everything I know. There's a woman here, too, who knows more."

"What woman?"

"Go and park!" said Marcus, growing agitated. "Before someone sees you and calls the cavalry. We don't want this all over the morning news."

Emmett, knowing he was right, tore away with vicious frustration, the guard to the back lot letting him through without a fight. Emmett tossed a bill at him as he passed through—more than enough to cover his parking for the night—and found a deserted, quiet little corner in which to leave his car. He knew he had parked badly—when he glanced back, he saw that his car was crooked over two spots—but he did not care to go back and fix it once he saw Marcus in the hospital doorway, a security guard standing beside him.

"What's going on?" asked Emmett, slipping through the door the guard held open for him. Emmett heard the lock latch behind him.

"Come with me," said the guard. "I'll bring you to where you need to go."

"Is she okay?" asked Emmett, glancing at Marcus as they moved. The man did not take them to an elevator, as Emmett had expected, but instead down a small, narrow hallway full of offices.

When they reached their destination, the door was opened to reveal a short, squat little lady in a nurse's outfit, two uniformed police officers, and a tall, blonde woman standing by the window.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Where is she?"

"She's resting just now," said the nurse gently, standing to greet him. "She took a bit of a tumble."

"Who are you?" asked Emmett, eying the cops and the strange woman. "I want to see Bella."

The blonde woman, looking viperous, took three great steps forward until she stood eye-to-eye with him. Emmett was startled by her height—very few women could meet his gaze—but he was even more taken aback by the anger on her face.

"You will sit, and you will listen," she snarled. "I don't give a shit who you are, or how much money you have. You will _not_ run in there and upset her."

Emmett frowned.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How do you know Bella?"

"I'm the one who's been keeping her safe!" shouted the woman, and Emmett saw Marcus sigh.

"Sit down, man," he said. "This is Rosalie Hale. I've heard of her… establishment."

Rosalie, responding to her name, turned and glared at Marcus, too. She softened only slightly when he offered her his hand.

"Marcus Benson," he said. "Emmett's agent."

"Rosalie Hale," she retorted. "Bella's friend."

"Is she okay?" asked Emmett again, cutting in. Marcus shot him a warning glance, as if he were begging him to be silent, but Rosalie was the one who spoke.

"The doctor thinks she'll be fine," she said. "She just hit her head."

"How?"

"She fainted," said Rose, cocking an eyebrow. "Apparently she didn't know she was a missing person."

"What?" demanded Emmett, shaking his head. "Where is she?"

" _Resting!"_ said Rose, exasperated. "The doctor will be back to take you to her room when he's done. He's examining her before he decides what to do with her."

"She's still unconscious," said the nurse, clucking softly. "She's got a nice bump on her head."

"Tell me what happened," said Emmett, staring at Rosalie. Any other day, if things hadn't been so desperate and tense, Emmett would have thought her quite beautiful. Today, however, he only had a mind for one thing.

"I'll leave the whole story for her to tell," said Rose. "All you need to know is that she's staying at my shelter, and when I was at Walgreens on my way home tonight, I saw her picture on _this_."

She thrust a magazine at him—a copy of his interview.

"So I called the police, told them where she was, and they wanted to talk to her. I called her down to my office, showed her the picture, and she fainted. I wasn't quick enough to grab her, and she smacked her head pretty hard on my desk on her way down."

"She's…"

"Safe," said Rosalie gently. "She'll be sore, but she's safe."

"How'd she get to you?" demanded Emmett, his mind returning at once to the word _'shelter'._ How could Bella, sister to one of the richest men in Los Angeles, be living at a shelter?

"That's for her to tell you, if she wants to," said Rosalie, sitting herself back down on the window sill. "I'm not here to tell her secrets."

"When can I…?"

"Right now," said a new voice—a doctor's voice—as he stepped into the room. Emmett had never seen the man before, and was surprised by his level of decorum as he took in the crowd.

"I'm Doctor Cullen," he said softly, gripping Emmett's hand firmly as he shook it. "If you'd like, I can take you to her."

"Is she awake?"

"She just opened her eyes," said the man. Rosalie stood up too.

"Only two at a time," warned the doctor. "It's past visiting hours as it is."

"Me and her," said Emmett, jerking his head at Rosalie.

"We have questions…" said the first cop—the shorter of the two. Doctor Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"She's in no condition to be interrogated," he said mildly, stepping aside to let Rose and Emmett through the door. "From my understanding, she's a missing person that's been found. Not a suspect."

"We still…"

"Come by the shelter sometime next week," said Rosalie, losing her patience. "She'll be better by then, right doc?"

"I'd imagine so," said the doctor. "Now, if you'll follow me…"

"Does she know I'm here?" asked Emmett quietly, speaking in Rose's ear as they followed the tall, blonde man down another corridor. He could hear Marcus's voice speaking to the police in the room they'd left behind.

"No," admitted Rose gently. "I didn't think anyone would answer when I called the number in the article…"

"Marcus," breathed Emmett, feeling a rush of gratitude for the man.

"Exactly," said Rosalie. "It said it was an office, so I figured I'd call and leave a message. But he answered, and told me he'd call you…"

Emmett had nothing to say.

"Listen," said Rose, putting her hand on his arm as the doctor stopped outside a door that was slightly ajar. Emmett could see the nurses' station from here.

"What?" he asked, pulling against her. Bella was in there—she wasn't twenty feet away…

"I don't know what's up between you two," began Rose. "I didn't even know you existed until tonight. But whatever's going on there, I just want you to know that she's had a really rough time of it lately."

Emmett frowned.

"Please don't make things worse," she said, her voice low—almost a whisper. "I haven't known her very long, but she's got so much potential, and I'd hate to see her go downhill…"

"That girl," said Emmett finally, wheeling around as he took Rose by the shoulders, "is the only family I have left."

Rose stared at him.

"Believe me. The very last thing I want to do is hurt her."

"Let me go in first and break the news…" Emmett gave a reluctant nod. He supposed she was right—there was no way to know how he'd be received.

The two of them, Rose and Emmett, squared their shoulders, standing upright as the doctor poked his head out of the door, a smile on his face.

"She's awake," he said. "Come on in, if you want to." Emmett stood, frozen to the spot, as Rosalie, a relieved smile on her face, darted through the door. Emmett waited, and listened.

"Hey, Bella," she said gently. "How's your head?"

When Emmett heard her voice, so different than it had been the last time he had heard it, he had to bite his cheek to stop his tears. He had cried enough for one day…

"Sore," said Bella. She sounded just like he'd imagined she would—soft, gentle, and quiet.

"You'll feel better in the morning," said Rose. "But listen."

"What?" asked Bella, and Emmett took another step closer to the door. The doctor, frowning at him, watched the interaction with mild interest, obviously wondering why Emmett would not go inside.

"Someone else is here…" said Rosalie. "I saw the number in the paper, and figured he would know by morning anyways…"

Emmett heard silence as Rosalie trailed off.

"Who, Rose?" Her voice was shaking. Emmett could not hold off any longer. Taking a deep, quaking breath, he took two steps forward, presenting himself in the doorway of the room.

And there she was—little Bella—though she was not as little as he remembered her. Her hair was longer than it was in the picture—there were little tendrils hanging down over her forehead and ears, and even though it was messy and un-brushed, Emmett knew it would be curly. Her face was not as round as he remembered it and she had lost most of her baby fat, but in its place was a slim little thing—a woman had taken the place of the girl. As she took in the sight of him in the doorway her eyes grew wide and her mouth went slack—the lip she was gnawing on fell from her teeth. Emmett only took a moment, stepping a little further into the room, to meet her gaze—those eyes were the things that had not changed, though he noted that one was bruised. Her big, brown doe eyes were exactly the same as he remembered them being—a splitting image of their father's—and as they watched him, blinking rapidly, Emmett held his breath.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, once his voice returned to him. Rosalie, who only had eyes for his sister, backed slowly away from the bedside, leaving the seat she'd taken as Bella stared at him, chest heaving.

She had yet to speak.

When Emmett, unsure of himself, went and sat in Rose's vacated chair, Bella's eyes never left him and her head turned to follow, staring as he sat.

"I've missed you."

The moment the words were out of his mouth Emmett saw her propel herself from the bed, her skinny little arms wrapping around his neck as she grabbed him in a fierce hug. As soon as he had her, her little, shaking body wrapped around his, he felt a piece of himself click into place—a long-forgotten, yet long-yearned for piece of the puzzle that had been missing. In that moment, though he knew there would be words exchanged later on, nothing mattered but the two of them. The world around them stood still—in their moment of reunion, neither noticed Rose, slipping tearfully from the room, or the doctor, who gently closed the door behind her. Bella cried into his neck—loud, keening sobs that echoed through the small room—and Emmett held her all the tighter. His hand ran down her hair, over her back, barely comprehending that she was really here, that _he_ was really here, that after so long apart, after so many misunderstandings, things were finally right again.

"I'm sorry," said Emmett, surprised to hear his own voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."

She did not let him go.

 **A/N: What do you think? Let me know!**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Bella could barely breathe for crying. She could feel him, though her closed eyes could not _see_ him, and she could not help herself when her hands grabbed at his shirt, holding it in tight fists. She could feel herself shaking, could feel herself trembling as his hands ran over her hair and back—large hands that she hadn't expected to feel ever again. Her forehead rested on his shoulder and her tears soaked into his shirt, but neither of them really noticed as they sat, immobile, in that little hospital room.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, and Bella felt him lean back. When his back hit the chair Bella was nearly pulled into his lap, though her legs remained sprawled haphazardly on the hospital bed. She refused to release him—she thought that if she did, he would slip away. If Bella let him go he would leave her—he would sneak out of the room as quickly and suddenly as he'd snuck into it. Bella could not let him go…

So, in her desperation to keep him close, she clutched onto him as if he were a life preserver on stormy, turbulent waters. Something deep inside was telling her to never let him go— if she did, she would surely drown. It had been so long since he'd last held her and Bella suspected that there had never been this kind of catharsis when he had before, but in that moment, while they were alone, there was some modicum of completeness that Bella hadn't even realized she was missing. Something deep inside, something foreign and unexamined, clicked into place as his hand tangled in her messy hair, and she felt his lips press a gentle kiss to her temple. She did not realize that she had yearned so desperately for him, for her _family_ , until she felt him gently push her away, holding her shoulders in his hands. The look on his face was tragic as he took in her frightened little face and snatching hands, desperate to pull him back.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," he said again, shaking his head. Looking up at his face with red, swollen eyes, Bella was startled to see tears on his face. Emmett never cried. Emmett was strong. He was bold. He was…

Bella stared at his face—so different, yet so familiar to her at the same time—until he looked awkwardly to the ground, taking a hand away from her to rub at his eyes. Bella shifted on the bed, forcing herself to pull away from him and let her feet dangle off the edge, trying to gain control of herself.

"Why are you…?" she began, and her brother's head snapped up.

"That woman, Rosalie, called my agent," said Emmett quickly. "She…"

"Yeah. No," said Bella, frazzled. "I mean…" She stared down at the bed.

"What?"

"Why did you come?" she asked, spitting out the words as swiftly as she could. Her face flamed once the question was out and she could help but peek up at him.

He blinked at her, a frown marring his face before his lips pinched together and he sighed, rubbing his eyes again.

"I've been looking for you for weeks," he said gently, taking her hand in his own as she began to pick at her nails. Her cuticles were already raw and Bella cringed at the sting. At his words, Bella's head quirked slightly, a frown on her face as she tapped her foot, not knowing exactly what to say.

"Bella?"

She looked up. His mouth moved as he watched her, looking as if he were trying to choose the right words. Bella felt the heaviness settling in her chest again—the one that was always certain to lead to tears—and she chewed on her lip again, turning away.

"Hey," he said, and his hand was on her chin. "Hey…"

When she started to cry again, Emmett did what he had always done best—he leaned over and hugged her.

"I came because I wanted to see you," he said, answering her previous question as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. "I came because I just found out what happened, and because I needed to make sure you were okay…"

Bella sniffled. Emmett pulled away so he could see her.

" _Are_ you okay, Bella?" he asked, brushing her hair away from her face. Some of it stuck—her cheeks were wet—but he tucked it securely behind her ear.

"I…" Bella seemed to have lost her words. There were a million things she wanted to say, a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but with her mind racing and heart pounding, she couldn't voice any of them. She was so shocked, so surprised to find him here, that all she could do was stare, her mouth moving wordlessly as she wiped at her cheeks, powerless to stop her tears from falling.

Emmett watched her, a frown on his face as she continued to say nothing.

"Bella?"

"I…"

"She's got a bit of a concussion," said the voice of Doctor Cullen, who had snuck into the room so quietly and suddenly that Bella let out a yelp. The good doctor stopped dead at the foot of her bed, eyebrows raised as he looked her over, offering her a gentle smile.

"I did knock," he apologized, looking sheepish. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Bella stared at him too.

"I'm here to give you one final check, and then I'm going to release you," he said gently, stepping up to the bedside. He took a penlight from his pocket.

"Release me?" asked Bella stupidly, blinking as the doctor shone the light in her eye. "Where?"

"Home," laughed the man, shaking his head. "You'll need to be careful not to hit your head again, and I'll be sure to let whoever takes you home know that you need to be woken every three hours."

"Why?" asked Bella, following the doctor's finger with her eyes.

"To make sure you're safe," he said. "Are you in any pain?"

Bella shrugged.

"Well, try some over-the-counter medication if you get a headache," said the doctor, seeming not to mind her lack of speech. "Advil, Tylenol, things like that."

"Okay."

"If you feel nauseated, or your headache gets worse, I want you to come right back in," he added, glancing at Emmett. "Are you…?"

"I don't know," said Emmett, shaking his head. "Bella?"

"What?" she said, turning her attention to him instead.

"Will you let me take you back to my house?" he asked softly, and Bella stared at him.

"Your house?" she repeated stupidly. "I…"

"Only if you want to," said Emmett quickly, and Bella saw him swallow. "I'd love for you to come with me, but if you'd rather go back with Rosalie…"

Bella blinked. The doctor fiddled with the chart on the end of her bed, giving them some modicum of privacy. Neither Bella nor Emmett were truly fooled—the doctor could hear every word they were saying—but Bella appreciated the effort.

"I…"

"You can stay as long as you'd like," said Emmett quickly, leaning forward in his chair. His elbows rested on her bed. "I've got plenty of space. You can leave in the morning, if you want to, or you can stay…" His voice trailed off, his eyes focused on her.

Bella blinked.

"Please come home with me," he finished lamely, speaking once again when Bella didn't. Bella did not know what she wanted—part of her was so tired, so unbelievably soul-weary that the thought of a bed in her brother's home made her almost weep with joy. But another part of her, warring for dominance, was fighting tooth and nail against the idea—she would not go home with this man she barely knew, the man who had _abandoned_ her and left her alone all these years…

But he loved her. He'd said so… But he'd left her. Bella closed her eyes against the battle brewing in her mind, trying once and for all to form a coherent, sensible thought.

"Bella?" Emmett sounded concerned. Bella's head snapped back up and she swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze as she struggled to find her words. When she saw the doctor frown, watching her as he reached concernedly for his penlight again, she cleared her throat.

"Okay."

The word came almost without thought. The moment it escaped her lips, that angry, bitter part of herself reared up in protest, screaming its displeasure. Bella felt her eyes well up once again and though the irritation was thick and burdensome, she could not force it away. No matter how hard she bit her lip, how hard she fought back against her own mind, she could not stop her overwhelming, if not a little embarrassing, sadness…

"Okay," said Emmett, his face breaking into a wide, dimpled grin. Bella cried all the harder when she saw it—she had not realized that she had missed that part of him, too. Emmett's smile slipped when he took in her renewed tears—he had always hated to see her cry.

"Hey, hey…" he said, his hands on her shoulders as she slumped forward once again. Bella saw the doctor's shoes creeping closer to the bed and she shook her head, taking great gasps of air to try and calm herself.

"I…"

"It's okay," said Emmett, letting her rest her cheek on his damp shoulder. "It's okay, Bella. You're okay."

Privately, Bella thought she had never been _less_ okay.

"You'll feel better in a day or two," said the doctor kindly, speaking when Bella's sniffles quietened. "You're probably overwhelmed as it is, and with the fall you've had…"

Bella said nothing. She knew better than most, thanks to the clumsy mishaps of her youth, the effects of a concussion. Bella knew that she would be dazed and a little sensitive until the effects wore off—she always seemed to lose some of her restraint when she was concussed.

"I'll have the nurse come in with your discharge papers," continued the doctor, placing Bella's chart back on the end of her bed. Bella said nothing, but clutched her brother's shirt in her fists again as he leaned away from her to take the business card the doctor was holding out.

"I'm not going," said Emmett gently, smiling kindly at the doctor as he left the room. Bella could only just make out the doctor's name and office number before Emmett slid the card into the pocket of his jeans, his hand returning almost immediately to stroke down the back of her hair. The feeling was foreign to her—she was not used to having someone soothe her like this—but the sensation was not unwelcome. Bella could not remember the last time she'd simply been held, as she was now. The more she tried to think the more certain she became that Charlie, no matter how much he may have loved her, had never hugged her for this long, nor had he ever stroked her back and hair when she was sad. As she sat, still stunned with disbelief at his sudden appearance, Bella recalled brief flickers of memory from her childhood. She remembered Emmett's hands, though smaller then, running down her back as she lay next to him in his too-small twin bed, trying to fall asleep…

When the nurse came in, Bella started again and leaned back slightly, her face turning pink when Rosalie trailed in as well. She stopped by the far wall, smiling gently at Bella as she observed the pair of them—her brother with his hands still on her back, and Bella resting her chin carefully on his shoulder. The nurse approached the bedside, a wide, gentle smile gracing her face as she held out a pen and paper for Bella to sign.

"This is to say that we're discharging you," said the woman, tapping her long fingernail on the line. Bella scribbled her name.

"And the doctor wants me to give you this," she continued, holding out an informational brochure. "Carlisle says that you should be woken every few hours for the next day, to make sure that you're not going to get any worse."

"I'll make sure of it," said Emmett. Bella could hear the rumble of his voice through the ear she had pressed against him. Bella, unsure of Rosalie's reaction, chanced a glance at the latter and was relieved to find her smiling and at ease.

"You're going with him, then?" she asked as the nurse left, depositing Bella's clothing on the end of the bed. She had been changed into a hospital gown upon her arrival in the ER.

"Yeah," said Emmett, answering for her as Bella froze up again. She did not know what was wrong with her—never before had she had such trouble with words.

"Well, here's my number," said Rose, offering her a business card. Bella took it gently. "I'm always around if you need me."

"Thanks," said Bella, her voice croaky. "I'll be back, I'm sure…"

Rose said nothing, but smiled her agreement.

"I hope to see more of you," said Rose. "Your room will be there if you want it."

Bella stared at her.

"My stuff…" she said stupidly, frowning as Emmett sighed. "I have all my things…"

"Like I said," returned Rose. "When you want it, it'll be there. You call me anytime, day or night, if you need anything."

"I…"

Bella did not know how long she would be with her brother.

"My job…" she said, her voice small and creaky. "Alice says I start Tuesday…"

"I'll call and explain," said Rose. "You'll be off your feet for a few days at least, and with all of this…"

"I have to work," said Bella urgently. "I can't just…"

"And you will," soothed Rose, stepping forward. Bella reached out and hugged her, and Emmett released her readily enough. Rose's hug was more fierce and urgent than Emmett's was, and Bella felt herself growing sad again.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing the other woman a little tighter. "Thanks for everything…"

"This isn't goodbye," said Rose, shaking her head. When she pulled away, Bella was glad to see that at least one person in the room had a level head and dry eyes. "I'll let you know what Alice says. I've got _his_ ," she gestured at Emmett, "phone number."

"Thank you…"

"And once I hear back from some of my other contacts, we can talk about housing," said Rose. "If at any time you feel like his house isn't the place for you, you can come right back to your room at Invictus."

Bella nodded, wiping at her eyes again.

"You're not stuck," said Rose firmly, crouching to meet Bella's gaze. "You'll never be stuck again. You'll always have a choice."

"I…"

Bella fell silent once more.

"Call me," said Rose after a long moment, realizing that Bella was not going to speak again. "I'll fill everyone else in after breakfast. When you call, I'll give you all the details."

"Rose…" said Bella, feeling as if she should say something more than she had. "I…"

"I know," said Rose, stepping away from the bed. "Trust me, Bella. I know."

And like she had before, Bella didn't dare ask exactly how Rose knew what she did.

* * *

Looking back on that evening much later in her life, Bella could never recall just how she made it from the hospital bed to her brother's awkwardly parked car, and then to his spacious Beverly Hills home. Although she knew she had, she did not recall meeting the man called Marcus, nor did she recall Emmett's look of utter disbelief when the stranger drew her in for a quick hug. Still shocked and confused, Bella fell asleep almost as soon as Emmett ushered her into the passenger's seat of his car, her head resting against the cool, tinted glass.

If she thought very hard on it, she could just barely remember the way Emmett had folded himself overtop of her to unbuckle her seatbelt, and how he'd scooped her up as if she weighed nothing at all. Bella thought she might have protested, though she was never sure, but a gentle _shush_ from Emmett rendered her limp and still in his arms as he walked her up the drive and through the front door.

When Bella awoke the next morning, ten minutes before her brother would be in to check on her, it was with the confused jolt that always warned her she was in an unfamiliar place. She had grown so familiar with the feeling—the sudden burst of anxiety that hit before she could even figure out where _here_ was, much less how she had managed to get there. This particular morning, just as the sun was beginning to crest over the distant horizon, Bella opened her eyes and lay still, listening hard for any signs of movement.

There was a long moment—longer than any similar moments she could remember from before—where she could not place herself at all. She did not recognize the room she was in, though anyone with eyes could see that it was spacious and stylish. The bed she was on sat centered on a wall, and two large windows faced her on either side of a fireplace. The fire was turned on low—she suspected that it was purely decorative—and the room was pleasantly cool for a California morning. Outside the window, through the gauzy curtains, Bella could see nothing but sprawling green grass and some distant trees that looked ripe for hiking. When she shifted in the strange bed—she felt so stiff and sore—she saw that she was still wearing her same clothing from the day before, though the covers on the bed were not like any she'd seen in quite some time. Gone was the old purple bedspread from Charlie's house that she'd kept on her bed since childhood, and there was no sign of the old, tattered quilt from the sofa. There was no cotton, as she'd had at James's house, nor was there any hint of blue, as she'd had at Invictus. Instead, she was covered by a thick, white duvet—Bella wondered if it was as expensive as it looked.

The clock at her bedside—a modern, analog clock—ticked steadily on as she stared at it, watching the little second hand creep round and round.

The harder she listened, the more she became aware that the entire house was deathly, almost painfully, silent.

When Bella closed her eyes again, trying her best to recall just where she was and how she had gotten here, flashes from the night before returned to her. She remembered her interview, the anxiety she had felt when she'd seated herself before Alice in that little coffee shop… had it really been only yesterday?

She recalled the cake, and the heartfelt congratulations from the women at the shelter—she was evidently _not_ at the shelter anymore. She remembered her novel, and the chair, and Rose's urgent, piercing whisper in the dark…

And then, with the suddenness and sharpness of a lightning bolt, Bella remembered.

 _Emmett._

She drew herself up carefully in the bed, rubbing at her tired, itchy eyes with the heels of her hands. As her fingers ran through her hair she could not help but cringe at the painful lump she felt, the brief memory of the desk in Rose's office rising unbidden in her mind. She remembered the hospital, too, and how her brother—her _brother!—_ had volunteered himself to take her home…

She must be at Emmett's house.

Bella started, pulling the covers up under her chin, when a gentle knock sounded out.

"Bella?" the deep, male voice was one that Bella recognized from the night before. The memory of him—so sharp, yet so unbelievable at the same time—reared up as the knob began to turn. For a brief moment Bella wondered if she had imagined the whole thing—if her concussed, exhausted, and utterly overwhelmed psyche had simply invented this man, a version of the brother she had lost, to help her cope with the fact that her life had gone completely to hell.

But when the man himself poked his head around the door, his hair tousled with sleep, Bella could not help the rush of mingled eagerness and anxiety that welled up inside.

"You're up," he yawned, surprised. He pushed the door open completely, stretching as he stepped inside. Bella watched him, wide eyed, as he sat next to her on the bed, and she clutched the duvet a little closer when he turned to look at her.

"You alright?" he asked, glancing at the clock. It read 6:30.

"Fine," she squeaked, embarrassed by the sudden shyness that struck her. "I'm good."

"Did you get some sleep, at least?" he asked, resting his hand on her knee. Bella shivered.

"Some," she acknowledged. In truth, she was not entirely sure how long she had slept—she had no idea what time she had left the hospital, or how many times he had already woken her.

There was a long, quiet pause.

"Are you still tired?" he asked, shifting so he could see her better. "I'm kind of used to early mornings, but if you want to go back to sleep, I can come back and get you in a few hours…"

"No," said Bella quickly. "No, I'm awake now."

Emmett nodded.

"Are you…" he began. "Are you hungry?"

"No." Bella thought that if she ate, she would surely be sick.

"Okay…"

Emmett's cheeks went red. Bella, knowing he was embarrassed, felt her own face heat up—she could never bear it when others were uncomfortable.

"I, uh…" she began, trying to think of something to say. What was she to say to her sibling whom she hadn't seen in years? What words should she say, what questions should she ask?

"Thank you," she blurted out finally, her face flaming redder than ever as she rested her cheek on her knees. She observed him shyly through her lashes, one side of her face pressed against the cool fabric of the duvet.

"You've got nothing to thank me for," said Emmett quickly, his face growing dark as he turned to look at her. The redness had gone from his face, and was replaced with a sickly, pallid look. The downward curl of his mouth made Bella falter, falling silent as he chuckled darkly and shook his head.

"Absolutely _nothing,_ " he said again, reaching out to place his hand on her hair. Bella shivered when he did.

"I just…" she began, uncertain of what she should say. "I mean…"

"Nothing I ever do will make up for what I did," said Emmett finally, after a long, pregnant pause. "I owe you a greater debt than I'll ever be able to repay."

Bella's response, though not entirely truthful, seemed automatic.

"You don't owe me," she said, her voice cracking. "You've never owed me anything…"

"Oh yes I do," he countered. His hand left her head and migrated to her cheek, and together with both hands on her face, he forced her to meet his gaze. His bright, powder-blue eyes bore into hers in what Bella felt was an awkward, if not serious, moment of scrutiny before a measure of hardness melted away from him and his shoulders slumped. When he pulled her in, Bella did not expect the gentle kiss he pressed to her forehead.

"I'm saying it now, and I'll say it a thousand times over," he said, his lips moving against her hair. "I'm sorry."

"I…"

"No," he continued, silencing her. "I _am_ sorry. I will always be sorry."

Something in Bella—the kind, gentle, peacemaking part of her—wanted to shush and soothe him, to deny any wrongdoing on his part that was causing him such pain. Bella had always been a gentle soul—she had always hated discord. She hated seeing people she loved in pain, and almost without thought, she was always ready with platitudes and reassurances even when none were deserved.

This time, however, the angry, bitter, and hurt part of her balanced it out, and what came out of her mouth was not placid forgiveness. When she pulled away, leaving his hands outstretched before him, Bella asked the one burning question she had been so desperate to have answered ever since she was just a little girl. It was the question that had haunted her since the day he'd left—the one question that kept her awake at night, and provoked within her the anxiety that it had been her fault, all her fault, that her family had been torn asunder.

"Why didn't you come back?"

When the question had passed her lips, Bella saw Emmett's face pinch and purse, an unbidden tear coursing down it. Bella wondered briefly, as she fought her own trembling lips, whether or not it was too early for such discourse, but she could not recall the question to her. It was out there now, and it demanded to be answered.

"I…" This time it was Emmett's turn to lose his words. "I…"

Bella waited, unable to look at him as she fought back her tears, determined to be strong for once in her life. She would not cry. She would _not_ cry. She would _not cry…_

"I _couldn't_ go back," said Emmett finally, his voice choked. "With dad the way he was—he was so angry—and I was stubborn, and stupid, and…"

He shook his head.

"Nothing I can say to you will make it okay," he said. "No answer I give you will be good enough. And for that, I'm sorry. I wish I had some grand reason, or some great story to give you that would make it all make sense."

Bella lost her battle against her tears.

"You didn't even say goodbye."

The childhood trauma—the sudden and capricious change that had wreaked such havoc on her young life—reared its ugly head once more, and Bella could not help the recollection of old sadnesses and fears. Bella had often wondered, throughout the years, whether or not life would have been different if her brother had only waited, had only _stopped_ to let her speak—what could she have said to make him stay? What would have happened if he had come to her room, tearful and angry though he was, and she had hugged him and refused to let go? Would he have thought twice if he'd had to pry her away, if he'd had to peel her clinging, snatching hands off of him while she screamed and fought in the yard—would he have been able to drive away?

Bella could never be quite sure either way—sometimes, she fully believed that the love her brother had once held for her would have stopped even the most determined plan, but other times, when she felt so wildly, desperately alone, she questioned whether or not he'd ever really loved her at all.

Maybe, if she'd screamed and fought, he would have simply set her aside and walked away just like he did—without aplomb, and without protest.

"Oh god…" said Emmett, his voice cracking as he reached over and snatched her up in a hug once more, his grip tighter and more desperate than it had been the night before. Bella fought him only briefly, struggling against his attempts to comfort, but ultimately gave in to it, glad that he could not see her face. Bella felt her own grief intensify when she felt his shaking, knowing he was crying. While it pained and alarmed her that Emmett, always so strong and cheerful, was so upset, she could not help but feel a little relieved, knowing that even if he couldn't give her a good answer as to why he'd left without so much as a hug goodbye, this cathartic response told her that she did, in fact, mean _something_ to him. It was in this moment, as she felt him crying as he held her, that Bella knew once and for all that no matter how happy Emmett had been to leave, he did, in fact, still feel some modicum of affection for her.

Bella nestled in a little closer—although she was not happy that she had made him cry, she was happy that he seemed to care. There were no reporters here, no cameras or interviewers. There were no photographers waiting to take his picture, and no journalists ready to report on his emotional reactivity in this moment. Right now, there was only the two of them, and Bella knew that as good of an actor as he might be, there was no one here waiting to see a performance.

"I'm sorry…" she heard him say, though his voice was muffled and thick. "I don't know what else to say. I love you. I'm sorry…"

Bella, forgoing any attempt to keep her own tears at bay, simply sat with her head on his shoulder, his large hands splayed over her back.

"I've got something to show you," he said finally, pulling back only slightly once he had regained some control. Bella ignored the red of his eyes, the tousled hair, and the flushed, blotchy face. "Will you come with me?"

"Okay."

Bella let him take her by the hand as he helped her out of bed, leaving the duvet rumpled and messy on the sheets. Bella took only brief stock of her surroundings as he led out onto a landing and then down a flight of stairs. The house was big, Bella noted, and expertly furnished—she was almost positive that Emmett himself had done little on his own. The brother she remembered would not have been able to even find the housewares section of the department store, let alone find any matching decorations.

Bella, however, drove all thoughts of home décor from her mind when he led her into a big, airy room with large windows all along the far wall. Normally, she would be taken aback by the beauty and grandeur of such a space, but this time, her eyes narrowed in on the pile of boxes, all dismantled, leaning on the wainscot. She knew those boxes—she had _packed_ those boxes herself.

"You got my truck?" she asked, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Oh, yeah," said Emmett, distracted as he looked up at the pile of cardboard. "Everything's unpacked. I saved it for you to look through…"

Bella turned with eyes as bright as gemstones, but when she saw her brother's distraction, she fell short.

"Thank you," she said again, breaking the silence as Emmett dug through a suitcase. The whole thing looked very hastily packed, as if the owner had simply thrown all his worldly goods into it pell-mell, without regard for folding or organizing…

"Here," he said finally, pulling his hand out of the suitcase. In it was held a thick stack of envelopes, all held together with an elastic band. Emmett tossed them on the nearby sofa, leaving Bella bewildered, as he reached in again, and pulled out another stack.

He procured five such bundles from the red luggage before he drew himself back up, staring at her.

"Um…" said Bella, unsure of what he wanted. "What…?"

"Open them," he said fiercely, reaching over and plucking the fourth stack from the sofa. "These are the oldest."

Bella took them.

 _Bella Swan  
435 Summerview Lane  
Seattle, WA  
98109_

Bella, stunned, removed the elastic from the stack. It fell apart in her hands, the bottom few falling to the floor. Bella scanned through each letter, confusion flooding her as she read her name and address written on each and every one.

On the first one in the pile, Bella glanced up and saw the return address scribbled in the corner.

 _E. Swan  
223 127_ _th_ _Street  
_ _Los Angeles, CA  
_ _90061_

Bella traced the old, fading ink with her fingertip. She did not know what to think—she was not even sure what exactly this _was._

" _Open it."_ Emmett's voice was urgent and fiery. "Open it, Bella. Open all of them."

When Bella, startled into action, slipped her finger carefully into the envelope and tore it open, she reached inside and procured a several sheets of folded notebook paper, stiff with age and wrinkled, as if they had been wet.

 _February 5, 2004_

 _Dear Bella,_

 _Thanks for writing me back, Beauty. I loved hearing from you. I'm very sad that you'd think I didn't want to—when have I ever not wanted to hear from you? Try not to worry so much about dad—I'm sure he'll come around. When he's calmed down, I'll try and talk some sense into him. In the meantime, letters will have to do—make sure you write me back! My address (for now) is on the envelope this letter came in. I hope you didn't rip it up too badly—I know how much you like opening mail._

 _The first thing I have to address is that sad little P.S. you left me at the bottom of the last note: No, Bell. It was_ _not_ _your fault that dad and I had a fight. I don't know what he's telling you, but what happened over winter break was between him and me. We both love you, and that's not going to change._

Bella could not believe the words she was reading—if the paper hadn't been so degraded, and the untidy scrawl so eerily familiar, she would have accused him of a forgery. The date on the top belied the reality she had lived—how could it be that Emmett, so silent and absent for so many years, had written her so many letters over such a long period of time? As Bella dropped the first letter to the floor—she could read no further in her current state—she inspected the envelopes she found. Some of the older ones were in worse shape than the one she'd been reading, but the newest one looked like it was only a few weeks old.

"That one came back to me while I was in Seattle," said Emmett, clearing his throat as Bella ran her hand over the bright blue ink on the front of a much tidier, neatly written envelope. "It's the first one that ever came back."

"How…" Bella flipped through the stacks. "What…"

"One for every month I was gone," said Emmett with a great sigh, sitting down on the floor. Bella hadn't realized she was kneeling.

"Every month?" Bella asked, unable to determine whether she was amazed or distraught.

How had things gone so terribly, horribly wrong?

"Every month," confirmed Emmett, swallowing thickly. He held one final elastic stack in his hand. "The last six, besides the one that was sent back, were in with the bills at the old house."

Bella stared at him—she felt sick as she recalled the piles of unopened envelopes, all untouched on the welcome mat when she'd refused to even look at them. She had been so sure, so absolutely, positively certain, that they had all contained bad news…

"And the others?" she demanded, forcing the thought from her head. "Where were those ones?"

Emmett stared at her.

"In dad's old tax box in the basement on Summerview," he said gently, as if he knew the effect these words would have. Bella stilled and blinked, her mouth going dry as she fought to remember what he was talking about.

"The tax box…?" Bella trailed off as a quick, almost nonexistent memory of her father came to her. She remembered watching him a few times over the years, carrying a large, laden cardboard box down to the basement.

" _Old records,"_ he'd grunted. _"Station stuff."_

As Bella knelt on her brother's floor surrounded by hundreds of unopened envelopes, she wondered just what on Earth her father had done.

 **A/N: My summer break has started now, but I'm working full time (Monday-Friday). Weekends will be my writing time, so I'm going to aim for one chapter per week (on both this story and _Fade to Grey)_.**

 **Let me know what you think of this one! I love hearing from all of you!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: If you're curious about where I've been, please read the author's note at the end of the chapter.**

 **ALSO: This chapter would not be a good one to skim, as there are certain parts that may be confusing if you skip around. There are some psychological disturbances in here that might make a quick skim seem confusing if you're not paying attention (but as always, it's up to you how you choose to read).**

Chapter 18

Bella could not ever remember feeling the way she did now. She could not move as she sat, stiff and rigid on the cold wooden floor of her brother's living room. The air around her was static and silent—Emmett stood behind her, unmoving, and she could not bring herself to look away from the thick stack of paper sitting before her on the floor. Though her knees were pained and her legs were growing numb, she did not dare wiggle or readjust, lest the torrent of emotion brewing inside her wrestle its way free. She did not know exactly how to put it into words, but the onslaught was so violent and cumbersome that Bella worried she would lose control. She knew it was showing on her face—she could feel her lips quivering as her eyes filled with traitorous tears, her breast full of some hot, desperate feeling that she could not identify.

At first she was sure the feeling was disbelief, as while she saw the letters in her hands, yellowed with age, she could not bring herself to acknowledge their reality. She fought to wrap her head around the truth as she inhaled their faint, inky scent mixed with the distinct smell of earth that brought back the bittersweet memory of her old basement. She could see her name, penned in strong, spiky letters across the front, and though the edges were rippled and bent, the front of each envelope was smooth and uniform. She could see the stamps in the corners, some torn and peeling, and some stuck so firmly that she wondered how they had ever been separate from the paper upon which they were affixed. She shuffled them anxiously in her hands, thrusting one behind the other with growing agitation before she threw the pile down in front of her and stared, blinking hard, while blood rushed through her ears.

The silence was almost deafening, and Bella, startled when Emmett spoke, lost the battle against her tears.

"Bell?"

She did not speak.

"Are you…?" he began, taking a careful step behind her. Bella heard his socks sliding on the wood and the slight creak of the floor as he shifted his weight, but she did not turn and she did not look away.

"Hey…" He cleared his throat as he took a few steps closer, but before he could lay a hand on her shoulder or kneel down next to her, Bella sprang to her feet with more agility and suddenness than even she thought possible. When her eyes met his, she watched with hypervigilant acuity as his expression went from concerned to confused and then finally, to downright worry.

"Bella…" he said in a shaking voice, his tone belying the anxiety he seemed to be feeling. Normally, Bella knew, she would have felt some guilt, or at least a little prick of conscience knowing she was the cause of his worry, but with this new missing puzzle piece in her hands, she could not focus on him.

In a moment that felt like an hour, while he swam in iridescent ripples before her, Bella could neither think nor speak. Her mouth felt dry and her knees felt weak, and though she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the comfortable, soft bed she'd dragged herself from that morning, she did not have it in her to go back into the bedroom. She barely knew what she was doing as she wheeled around, spinning so fast that it made her lightheaded, and scuttled ungracefully to the front door, which she found without much difficulty.

"Bella!" called Emmett, trailing after her. Bella found the shoes she'd borrowed from Rosalie for her interview the day before—had it really been only yesterday?—and shoved her feet inside. She could barely hear Emmett over the suddenly loud sound of her own breathing, and her frantic attempts to unlock the deadbolt on the door.

"Hey!" Emmett grabbed her arm, pulling her gently back. Although she knew quite rationally that he was not a threat to her, something angry and desperate reared up in her as she felt his large, hot hand clasping gently on her arm, his fingers—so familiar, yet so strange at the same time—holding her firm.

Bella knew he was startled when her face blanched and she tore herself away, pressing up against the door with wide, frightened eyes.

"Whoa…" he said, his hands held up in surrender. "I'm sorry…" He stuttered over his words, shaking his head as he blinked, no doubt trying to wrap his head around her strange, almost shocking behaviour. Bella knew that he did not know exactly what he should be sorry for, but even he could not mistake the sudden tension between them and the abject terror on her face.

Bella, however, forced herself to examine his face, to remind herself that the dark curls, scruffy cheeks, and agonizingly familiar dimples did _not_ belong to the unbidden, intrusive blonde figure that had so suddenly and viciously imposed itself in her thoughts. Something in her had snapped when she'd felt his hand on her—his fingers, unluckily placed, had grabbed her in exactly the same way that James had all those weeks ago. Though she hadn't given him so much as a passing thought this past week, Bella was suddenly aware that he was not nearly as inconsequential as she'd been so keen to believe.

"I'm sorry," said Emmett again, shaking his head as his hand ran through his hair. "I'm sorry…"

Bella, unable to speak, leaned back against the door and tried to control her breathing.

"I…"

"Yes?" said Emmett. "What is it, Bella?"

"I…" Bella could barely form words. "I have to…"

Emmett's face fell. He knew what she would say.

"You just got here," he said in a low, broken voice. "Please don't go. Not yet…"

"I can't," said Bella, shaking her head. She could not think… she could not even _fathom…_

"Please," said Emmett again, taking a step forward. Bella pressed herself more firmly against the door. "Just come in and have some breakfast. You're still not well, and…"

"No," said Bella. Her hand crept up behind her, and she found the deadbolt.

"At least let me drive you…" he said. Bella shifted away from him as he reached back towards her. How was it that only last night she had been so desperate, so _clingy?_ Right now, as he stood before her with his hand outstretched, Bella could not even bear to have him _touch_ her.

"I have to go," she said, her speech stunted. "I… I have to…"

"Let me drive you," said Emmett desperately, his worry seeping into his voice. "Don't just run out there…"

But Bella, in her frantic, confused, and desperate desire to get away, could not listen to reason.

"No," she said. "I have to…"

"Bella, don't!" said Emmett, scrambling for his shoes as Bella opened the front door. She stepped back into the warm morning air, the heat of the rising sun beating down on her exposed neck. Bella did not care that she was wearing her brother's old pyjama pants, or that the shirt she had on was at least three sizes too big. She didn't care that she left Rosalie's interview clothes behind in the strange room she'd spent her night in, nor did she stop when she heard Emmett slam the door behind him, his footsteps echoing on the stone path.

"Bella, come on," he said, his voice raised. Bella was walking towards the gate—she could not stop now that she had started—and when she heard him start to jog behind her, a sudden stab of fear made her quick.

"Bella!" he shouted, and though the iron gate was locked, Bella managed to slip through when a strange man—the gardener, based on the armful of tools he carried with him—came whistling through a latched door along the side.

When she slammed it behind her, she heard Emmett curse as he entered the code on the security system. The time it took him to reopen it gave her all the time she needed to get out to the road.

Bella was already partway down the street when she heard his quick footsteps chasing after her—her brother had always been fast and she knew now, as she had known when she was just a little girl, that she had almost no chance of outrunning him if he really wanted to catch her.

And just like that, Bella felt a surge of fear like nothing she had ever felt before—there was something about the pursuit, about being chased, that made her bolt.

Looking back on this day later in life, Bella could never figure out just what it was that had made her run so fast and so far away from the one person in the world who loved her—who had never _stopped_ loving her. She could not fathom just what it was that had sparked such fear, such confusion in her overwhelmed, anxious mind. It was this confusion that caused her to weave dangerously through the streets, cutting off cars and darting every which way—sprinting so fast and so furiously that Emmett, in his well-meaning but ultimately futile attempts to make her see sense, pursued her in his black Mercedes rather than on foot. Bella was never quite sure just when he had turned back for his car, but when she saw him driving down the wide, bustling street after her, she thought that she just might break.

As she ran, Bella barely felt the heat on her back or the sharp, aching cramp in her side. The headache—so recently abated from her fall in Rosalie's office—came back with a biting vengeance, but neither hell nor high water would stop her in her flight. Bella ran through the bustling streets of Beverly Hills without a thought for safety or reason—all she knew in that moment was that she could not sit idle, and that she could not _, would_ not let herself be caught and captured and brought back to that little townhouse with its mysterious basement and violent master…

When Bella, blinded by tears and gasping for air, scrambled into an alleyway that not even Emmett could maneuver his car into, she heard the squealing of his tires and the desperate, worried cry of _"Bella!"_ before she forced herself to keep moving, escaping at the other end into the bustling, busy streets of Los Angeles.

* * *

Bella did not stop running until she felt her legs seize up and she fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, her breathing ragged and harsh and her chest burning. She had no idea how long she had run—it could have been twenty minutes or two hours. All she knew, as the heat and exertion made her sick, that she had run as hard and as far as she would be able to manage for the time being, and that she was hopelessly, recklessly lost.

Hidden away in a dark corner in the entranceway of an unoccupied storefront, Bella rested her weary head back against the grey brick façade. The sweat was pouring down her back, wet and sticky, and she could feel the loose tendrils of hair sticking to her neck. When she pressed the back of her hand to her cheek she felt it flaming and damp, as if she was suffering some kind of raging fever. Her breath came in quick, sharp pants as she fought to catch her breath, unused to the kind of physical exertion she'd imposed upon herself. Bella was glad that she was mostly hidden from view—she could see the bustling city dwellers walking briskly from place to place, talking on cell phones and laughing over tall cups of coffee. She could hear the angry blaring of car horns, and the indistinct rumble of voices and traffic intermingling as she closed her eyes.

She tried not to think about the fact that she did not know where she was.

As if she were still in her brother's clean, open, air-conditioned house, Bella's mind conjured up a clear image of the stack of envelopes that had frightened her so badly that morning. Sitting up on the steps, determined that she would not lose herself again, Bella thought back to the look of eager apprehension on Emmett's face, the look of hopeful desperation with which he'd observed her when he'd shown her the pile. For years she had been so eager to blame him, to accuse him of leaving and never looking back, but with those thick and heavy envelopes before her…

Years and years worth of letters, of carefully crafted and meticulously mailed missives, could only mean one thing. Bella could barely even think it, could hardly wrap her brain around the idea that it had not been _Emmett_ who had torn their family apart, but rather…

Bella could not reconcile the image of her father—of her kind, gentle, and stoic father—and the hard-hearted, cold man that would deny his daughter her one greatest wish. When she remembered him, Bella recalled the way his eyes would sparkle when he saw her, how he would sometimes approach her during commercial breaks and give her such tight, bone-breaking hugs that she would have to wheeze out a protest. She remembered the sad, pensive look on his face when she, such a little girl, had asked him why Emmett hadn't answered the letter she'd taken such pains to craft. She remembered the way he would give her a gruff, whiskery kiss when she was being especially sweet, or how he was sure to poke his head into her room every night to wish her sweet dreams.

Bella could not believe that Charlie—her protective and ever-gentle father—had so brutally severed the ties Bella had made with her brother, the only sibling she would ever have. Bella could not understand, could not _fathom_ how he had sat beside her on the sofa night after night with his arms wrapped around her while she had wept bitter tears of disappointment when there had been no answering letter in the day's mail. Even now, leaning up against the hot brick in the California sun over a decade later, Bella could not understand how he could have petted her hair and kissed all her tears away, all the while knowing that he had hidden the cure for her misery down in the basement in a box he knew she'd never find.

And so it was like this, with her face in her hands and her eyes red and raw, that a kind-looking gentleman found her as the sun reached its apex.

"Miss?" Bella could only peek through her fingers.

"Miss, are you alright?" asked the man, stepping off of the sidewalk and moving closer to her. Bella suppressed her instinctive withdrawal, taking pains to wipe her streaming eyes on the edge of her shirt. She was sure she was quite the sight—she knew her face was blotchy and red, her hair was unbrushed, and she was still wearing the old pyjamas her brother had given her.

"Miss?" The man took another step closer, his frown morphing into worry. Bella shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said in a voice so croaky that she was surprised he could make it out at all. "I'll be fine…"

The man stared when her voice broke and she turned away again, resting her head on her knees.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, sitting down on the step next to her. "Do you need me to call someone?"

Bella could not answer.

"Miss?" he said, and Bella saw him take a cell phone from his pocket. Knowing that if she didn't shape up he'd call for help, Bella took care to sit up.

"I'm alright," she said. The man looked pitying when her attempt at a brave smile morphed into a grimace, and she wiped angrily at her eyes with the palm of her hand.

"There must be someone I can call for you," he said again, waving the phone coaxingly before her. "Is there someone who can come and help?"

"No…" said Bella, taking a great gulp of air. She did not know Emmett's phone number…

"Well," said the man, "what about this?"

And he reached over next to Bella and picked up a business card—one that Bella recognized at once.

"Rosalie," she said, reaching down to the pocket in the pants she was wearing. She had completely forgotten that she'd slipped the card into the pocket before leaving the hospital the night before…

"Right," smiled the man. "Should I call her?"

Bella could only nod.

 _Rosalie would help her…_

"Hello?" said the man, the little black gadget pressed to his ear. "Yes, my name is Garrett Chalmers…"

Bella heard Rosalie's loud, commandeering voice even from where she sat on the step. She could not make out the words, but just the sound of a familiar voice made her feel a little better.

"Yes," said the man. "I just happened across a girl sitting on a step in the middle of Sixth Street…"

Rosalie's voice cut him off, and Bella thought she sounded agitated.

"No, I…" said the man, looking slightly alarmed. "Yes. Hold on."

He held the phone out to Bella, and she took it with shaking hands. When she pressed it to her ear, it was all she could do not to burst into tears again.

"Bella? Is that you? Where are you?" Rose's questions came out in a rush, and Bella felt a surge of affection for her.

"Rose," she said, her voice croaky. "I'm here."

"Oh, thank _God!_ " she said. "Where are you? Half the town is out looking for you."

"I don't know," said Bella again, shaking her head. The man looked around.

"What do you see?" asked Rose. "I'll come get you as soon as I figure out where you are. Stay put, you hear me?"

"Yes," said Bella, clearing her throat. "I don't know where…"

The man put his hand out. Bella handed the phone back.

"We're about half a block from the Museum of Art," said the man quickly. "Right on the main drag."

The man went silent.

"She seems fine," he said quickly, looking Bella over as he spoke. She bristled, but knew that his examination was warranted— if Rose was as concerned as Bella thought she was, there would be more than just a quick once-over in her near future.

"Absolutely," said the man. "I'm in a suit with a black briefcase, and your girl here is in some sweatpants and a t-shirt."

Bella flushed.

"Sure," he said again, after another brief pause. "What car should we look for?"

Bella stared.

"A red Beemer," he nodded. And then, without a goodbye, he handed his phone to Bella.

"Bella?" Rose's voice sounded echoey now, and Bella could hear the revving of her car engine underneath her voice.

"Rose," said Bella, curling her legs a little tighter when the man sat back. He smiled at her, a little too understanding, and Bella closed her eyes.

"I'm on my way to you," said Rose. "I'll be there shortly. Are you okay? That guy's not a total weirdo, is he?"

"I'm fine," said Bella, keeping the details of her embarrassment to herself. "Thanks for…"

"Don't worry about it," said Rose. "I'll be with you in just a few minutes. I'm not far from the Art Museum."

"Okay."

"Stay on the line until I get you," she said. "Mister What's-His-Name… _Garrett_ , says he doesn't mind. But just to be safe…"

"Okay."

There was a long pause as Bella listened to the sound of Rosalie's car, driving ever-closer, and the soft, quiet humming of the benevolent stranger. No one else on the street seemed to pay them any mind—Bella stared at countless pairs of shoes as they walked by her, each one bent on its own path.

"You still there?"

"Yes."

"Good."

More traffic.

After ten full minutes of awkward silence interspersed with brief check-ins, Bella heard Rose's sigh.

"I see you guys now," she said, and Bella glanced around. At the intersection about a block up, Bella could see a distinctive red car waiting at a red light.

Bella sniffled.

"I'm hanging up now. I'll be with you in just a few minutes."

"Thanks."

The line clicked, and Bella handed the phone back to the stranger.

"Thank you," she said, wiping her face on her shirt as the man stood up.

"No worries," he smiled. "I couldn't just leave you out here all by yourself, now could I?" Bella cracked a reluctant smile.

"You'll be okay?" he asked, standing up from the step. Bella saw that he had dust on his shiny new suit, and though he brushed it off without much concern, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"I'll be fine," she insisted, and he stepped carefully aside just as Rose pulled into the parking lot of the building next door, stepping swiftly and determinedly from the driver's seat.

"I'll leave you to your friend, then," said the man, stepping back out onto the sidewalk. "You do know her, right?"

"Yeah," Bella said, laughing despite herself. When Rose reached them, Bella saw the man's eyebrows twitch together.

"She's safe now," said Rose, resting her hand on Bella's shoulder as she faced the stranger. "Thanks for all your help."

"Anytime," he said. "I should get back to work."

"Thanks," said Bella, infinitely grateful for his intercession. She was not sure what she would have done if he had just walked by like everyone else…

"Thank god you're safe," said Rose, speaking so fiercely and suddenly that Bella started. Rose wrapped her arms around Bella in a tight, fierce hug as she rested her head on Bella's, a gentle hand rubbing down her back.

"How did you know…?" began Bella, shaking her head.

"Emmett," said Rose quickly, and Bella bristled. "He called me as soon as he lost you, and told me that you ran."

Bella's chin quivered.

"I…"

"You don't owe me an explanation," said Rose quickly, smoothing Bella's hair. "And certainly not here. Let's get you in the car, and then we can talk if you want to."

Bella, suddenly embarrassed by her grungy clothing, walked quickly to the car and slipped inside, glad that the windows were tinted.

Rose, slipping quietly into the driver's seat, fiddled with the radio and drove three whole blocks before either of them spoke.

"Do you want to talk?" asked Rose, glancing over for only a moment while she stopped at a red light. "You seem upset."

"I…" began Bella, clearing her throat. Now that she had taken a moment to calm down, she found that she was embarrassed by her hastiness.

Rose watched her.

"It was dad," she blurted out. The sound of the words made her sad all over again, and she turned away so Rose would not see her cry.

"What was dad?" she asked, handing Bella a napkin.

And then, as if the words had been dying to come out, Bella explained the whole, sordid affair to Rosalie. Rose drove steadily on, never breaking eye contact with the pavement, but Bella saw her eyes harden once the story was finished.

Bella, expecting some kind of response, was awkwardly silent when none came, and she instead turned and fixed her gaze nervously on the dashboard.

"I'm sorry," said Rose finally, speaking only when they had turned down a familiar street. Bella could see the tall, nondescript building at the end of the block, and the immeasurable relief that flowed through her when Rose pulled to a stop at the back made her sigh.

Neither Bella nor Rosalie got out of the car, even after the engine grew silent.

"I want you to promise me something," said Rose quietly, speaking gently into the silence. "And I mean it."

When Bella turned to look at her, she saw that Rosalie was not surveying her with the usual stoic, unruffled countenance that Bella was so used to. Instead, there was genuine discontent brewing in her deep blue eyes, and her usually-smiling mouth was turned down in a sad little frown.

"What?" asked Bella, squirming.

"If you ever feel like you did this morning, I don't want you to run like that," she said. "Who knows what could have happened? I know that you might not want to call _me_ , but _please_ call someone to come and get you. Or walk with you."

Bella didn't think her face could go any redder than it already was.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling like a scolded child. "I didn't mean to…"

Rose quirked a disbelieving eyebrow.

"I mean," Bella backtracked. "I just felt so…"

"I know," said Rose gently, softening at Bella's shame. "But you need to make sure you're safe. I don't want anything to happen to you…"

"Sorry."

"What made you run?" asked Rose. Her voice was gentle, almost as if she expected Bella to try and run again.

"I just…" she began. "I was shocked, and sad, and confused…"

Bella struggled to put her feelings into words.

"And then he grabbed me, and I just…"

"What do you mean, he _grabbed_ you?" said Rose, venom leeching in. "Did he hurt you?"

"No!" said Bella quickly, shaking her head. One glance at Rosalie told Bella that she was all fire and spite, and Bella was quick to try and diffuse her.

"No, he didn't hurt me," she said again. "He just didn't want me to leave, and I was kind of freaking out…"

"He had no right…"

"It was _me_ ," said Bella, shaking her head. "He was trying to be nice. He just wanted me to sit down, or turn around and think for a minute before I ran out…"

Rosalie stared.

"But he grabbed me, and I freaked out even more, and then I remembered James and the townhouse, and I just…"

The fire died on Rose's face as quickly as it had arisen.

"I get it," she said, a deep sigh escaping her. "I should have known he wouldn't try and hurt you, but…"

Rose did not finish her thought.

"Well, you're here now," she said in a voice that sounded falsely cheerful even to Bella's ears. Bella scrambled after her when she opened the door and stepped out into the sun, stretching her arms above her head. She waited for Bella to reach her before the two of them set off together towards the back door of Invictus, Rose unlocking it with a key from her pocket.

"Your room is still set up," said Rose gently, leading Bella through the familiar lobby. "No one's touched a thing since you left."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to call your brother and tell him that you're safe," she continued, glancing up at the clock on the wall. Bella saw that it was past noon.

"Okay."

"You want to stay with us for now?" she asked, hovering in the doorway to her office. Bella nodded quickly.

"If it's okay…"

"Of course it is," she said, fierce and determined. "I told you once, and I'll tell you again—if you need us, we're here for you. I don't care who you family is, or how much money he has…"

Bella cracked a smile.

"Go on up," said Rosalie, looking not quite pleased, but not as angry or agitated as she had before. "I'll come up later and check up on you."

"Thanks again," said Bella, eying the staircase with an eager, tired gaze. "I really appreciate it…"

"Don't mention it," said Rose, sitting at her desk. "Go and get some sleep. You look done in."

Bella knew she was dismissed when Rosalie, breaking away from Bella, picked up the receiver on her office landline and began inputting a telephone number, listening carefully for the respondent's answer.

Bella was only on the stairs long enough to hear Rose's dejected, tired voice speak out.

"I've got her."

When Bella reached her floor, stopping only for a few minutes to say hello to Kitty, she slipped quietly and gently into the little twin bed with the familiar blue comforter. She huddled herself under the blankets, strangely cold despite the warm weather outside, and tried her best to keep the sound of her tears quiet and the image of Emmett's sad, confused face out of her mind.

 **A/N: My apologies for the delay. There's been a lot going on. Firstly, I took a week-long break to plan out the rest of this story and figure out exactly where I wanted it to go (I didn't have a real end-game in mind, and needed some concrete plans so I could work things out and pace everything properly). Then, my moving date snuck up on me, and I had to spend all my free time packing and cleaning so I could get into my new house. Then, of course, there was unpacking and organizing to do once I was in my new place. Then, just this past week, I had my university graduation (I've finally got my Bachelor's degree in English!)**

 **Hopefully, now that things have calmed down again, I can get back on a regular schedule. I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter!**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Bella stood behind the counter, squinting through the semi-darkness to watch as Alice bustled along the far wall of the café. Her fingers were twined with the strings on her new apron as she watched Alice moving back and forth, bags of ground coffee beans coming down each time she reached up. The basket at her side was filling up quite quickly, and while Bella knew that on an average day it would be priceless to watch Alice hopping to reach the highest shelf, her nerves prevented any real amusement.

"Don't look so grim," said Alice, returning to the counter with her selections. "It won't be that bad, I promise."

Bella tried to muster up a smile, but when Alice fought back a laugh, Bella knew that she had failed.

"I'll make sure everyone goes easy on you," she promised, glancing up at the clock. It was only just approaching 6. "We've got decent customers. Right Tyler?"

Tyler, who was busy with the espresso machine at the end of the counter, grinned.

"Absolutely, Miss Alice," he said. "You'll do great, Bella."

"And it's only your first day, so no one expects you to know everything right off," said Alice. "I've shown you the basics of the register, but I guarantee you there will be someone coming in with modifications and substitutions…"

Bella wondered if she might be sick.

"I'm here all day to help you, and Jasper is in the back too, in case we need him," said Alice. "You'll do wonderfully. I promise."

"Thanks," said Bella, her tongue stiff. She took a deep breath in, holding it for only a moment before she let it out. Alice, looking as if she were still trying not to laugh, ducked out from behind the counter and went to the door, turning the deadbolt. The sudden stab of fear Bella felt when the lights over the tables went on and the little old-fashioned sign on the door was flipped was unwarranted, as while she waited with bated breath, there was no flood of customers to accost her.

Tyler laughed at the sudden frown on her face.

"Give them time," he laughed. "We get our first rush at around 7:30, when everyone is on their way to the office."

And so Bella waited.

It had been a full week since the embarrassing episode at her brother's house, and during that week she had not spoken to him once. On that first day back at Invictus, Bella had fallen asleep almost at once, and had only been dragged from her busy and chaotic dreams by Rosalie's insistent knocking on her door.

" _You still need to be woken up,"_ she had said. _"You're free to go back to sleep if you want to, but I'll be back again at supper time to make sure you're okay."_

Bella, however, could not find the calm she needed to go back to sleep, and she had resigned herself to lying awake in the little bed, staring at the ceiling.

Though she still could not truly understand it, she could not help but dwell on the revelations of that day. Never in her life had she felt so conflicted—she was so torn between opposing ideas that she wondered how she would ever come to any sort of conclusion. The whole thing started with her brother—that old part of her that would accuse him of coldness and betrayal was still going strong, though Bella had noticed that it was far less vocal now that she had taken a few days to think it over. That part of her was still so angry—it wanted him to suffer for the wrongs he had done her, for the wrongs he had done their entire family. It was him, after all, who had made things so tense at home. It was he who could not be happy living the average, sensible life their father had dreamed up for him. It had been Emmett, in all his desire for glory and fame, who had left her behind to live a stagnant life, who had chosen money, his fancy house, and his grand sports cars over anything Bella could have ever given him…

But then, once that cynical, bitter part of her had its say, a new voice would speak up just to remind her that he _hadn't_ forgotten about her. Emmett had always thought of her, and had taken the time to write hundreds of letters, even when she had never written back. This voice reminded her that her brother loved her—he had come to pick her up at the hospital, had cried with her, hugged her, kissed her, pleaded with her to stay with him… how was she any better than him? She had spent years… _years_ wondering what she could have done differently that day so long ago. Emmett had asked her not to leave, had begged her to reconsider, and she had done the same thing to him as he had done to her—she had run away and left him behind without a second thought. And then she thought of the letter she had written that had gone unanswered—she gave up after so little time, but Emmett—good, kind, and loving Emmett—had never given up on her. Although Charlie had kept Emmett's lingering interest a secret, her brother had never truly left her…

And then when she thought of Charlie, the angry cycle would start all over again. She would remember his many kindnesses, the ways in which he had, in his own way, shown her the love a father should always have for his daughter. He had soothed her, fed her, clothed her, housed her, celebrated with her, cried with her, and fought for her whenever she had needed him. Bella could not recall a time when her father had failed to provide for her, and while he was not an affectionate man by nature, Bella knew that he had done his best. She had watched for 22 years as Charlie had changed his gruff, hard exterior for her—and she knew it was for her. She had watched as he fought against his anger towards her mother—the only woman Charlie would ever look twice at—because of her. Bella had been so certain that she had known her father, that there had been no secrets between them, that she struggled to reconcile the new image of him with the old.

Bella was jolted from the dangerous wheel of her thoughts when the bell on the café door tinkled and a man came inside, walking briskly to the counter. Her nerves, so frayed and raw, flared for only a second before Alice materialized beside her, all smiles and sunshine.

"Good morning, Peter," she said. "What can we get you? It's Bella's first day, so go easy on her."

The man laughed.

"Large regular," he said. "And I'll take one of those delicious-looking raspberry scones, even though Charlotte will kill me if she finds out. We're on a 'clean' diet now." He said the word 'clean' with such a comical grimace that Bella had to look away.

It was all she could do not to laugh.

* * *

That night, though she was tired and sore from being on her feet all day, Bella could not resist the deep-seated satisfaction that ran though her. She was sitting in an armchair in the common room, her feet curled up under her as she rested her head carefully on the arm, her eyes drifting closed. A passerby might think she was asleep, but Bella was far from tired—her mind was positively buzzing with activity.

The message that had been waiting for her after work had made her both terribly frightened and desperately excited, and she had only a few minutes left until she had to be downstairs.

Although she had spent most of her childhood and teenage years glued to Angela's side, her friend had been the last thing on her mind once she had reached California. After that brief exchange on Facebook, all thought of the Webers had slipped from her mind, and it was only over the past week, after talking with Rosalie, that Bella had learned the truth.

Rose had given Bella the quick version of the story—her brother had seen some filthy tabloid reporting Charlie's death, and he'd rushed off to Seattle to find out what had happened. When he had found her missing, he had immediately sought out Angela, and together with Ben, Caroline, and Dennis, they had quickly reported her missing.

Bella could only hope that Angela would understand her lapse in judgment when they spoke. Rosalie had told her that Emmett had let the Webers know that Bella had been found safe, but Bella was sure that if she logged on to her Facebook page she would be inundated with notifications from all three. Bella was nervous, as she always seemed to be nowadays, but beyond that was her gleeful excitement. She had missed Angela more than she had realized—there was something wonderful about having a friend to back you up, someone who was always on your side, no matter what…

"Bella?" Rose spoke from the staircase. "You can come down now. She should be calling in a few minutes, and I'm done with my conference call."

"Thanks again, Rose," said Bella, jumping up from her chair. "I really appreciate it…"

"Don't mention it," said Rose. "I'm just glad you're reconnecting. I'm sure you miss her."

"Yeah," said Bella. "Yeah, I do."

When Rosalie unlocked the door Bella only had time to sit in the chair opposite the desk before the phone rang. Smiling, Rose picked it up.

"Invictus Women's Centre, Rosalie speaking…" Bella bit her lip. "Absolutely. She's right here."

"I'll be right outside," said Rose, covering the mouthpiece and handing Bella the phone. "We're on an unlimited long distance plan, so don't worry about time. Come and get me when you're done."

"Thanks." Bella took the handset. She held it carefully in her hands, surprised to find them shaking, until Rose closed the office door. When she brought it up to her ear, she could hear breathing on the other end, and when Bella sniffled, Angela spoke.

"Bell?" There was a long pause.

"Hi Ange."

"Oh my God…" said Angela, and Bella cringed at the sound of shaky relief in her voice. "Oh my God, Bella…"

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, biting her lip. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, I'm sorry I ran off… I'm sorry I didn't tell you—"

"You are in so much trouble."

"I know…"

"I've been out of my _mind_ with worry! We all have!"

"I…"

"I love you!" Angela's loud, abrupt change was so shocking that Bella smiled. She wanted to laugh, but at the same time, she felt as if she might cry…

"I love you too."

"You're lucky I'm not there," continued Angela. "I love you, but I'm going to kill you when I see you…"

"I know," said Bella again, cringing. "I'm sorry…"

"Are you okay?" Angela cut her off. "Are you hurt?"

"Only a little," said Bella sheepishly. "I know they told you…"

"Never mind the fall," said Angela. "You're always falling. I mean all the other stuff."

Bella hesitated.

"Your brother says you're in a shelter," said Angela in a small, worried voice. "Is that true?"

"For now," said Bella, clearing her throat. "I mean, it's not forever…"

Angela went silent.

"And the other stuff…"

"What other stuff?"

"You tell me," said Angela. "I don't know all of what happened…"

Bella bit her lip.

"What did they tell you?"

"Nothing much," she said. "You got to L.A. and you met some freak. And then you ran from him, and that's about it."

"Yeah, that's about it."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," said Bella. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue—she did not like to tell falsehoods to Angela.

"No?" said Angela, her voice much softer. "Bella, you can tell me, you know…"

"I know," she said. She tried to keep her voice steady. "I got away from him before anything super creepy happened…"

"I was so scared for you, Bella."

"I know. I'm sorry." Bella could think of nothing satisfactory to say—Angela had every right to be concerned. Hell, if it had been Angela, Bella was sure she would have had a complete breakdown by this point. But Angela was always the stronger one…

"No, I'm serious," she said. "Do you want to know what I thought?"

"What?" Bella's reply was almost a whisper.

"I thought that we would get a call telling us that they'd found you dead," said Angela, and Bella was appalled to hear her crying. "Do you know how worrying it was to have _Emmett_ calling me? I barely knew him, even when we were kids, but there he was, on my phone, and I thought there could only be one reason he would call. And I hadn't heard from you in so long..."

Bella sniffled, wiping at her eyes. She snatched a tissue from the box on Rose's desk.

"I'm not dead, Ange," she said. "I promise. I'm fine."

"No one knew where you were," she continued. "Not even me. I thought you'd tell _me_ , at least…"

"I couldn't," said Bella. "You'd have never let me go."

"Damn right," said Angela. "You shouldn't have gone."

"But I did," said Bella.

"We would have helped you."

"I didn't want help," said Bella.

"But…"

"I'm sorry, Ange," she said, her voice growing weary. "I really, really am. I'm sorry I worried you, and I'm sorry I didn't call, or write, or…"

"Don't ever do that to me again," said Angela. "You're my best friend. I don't ever want to go through that again. Don't cut me out, Bella."

"I won't." Bella had never felt so determined about anything in her life. "I promise, I won't."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too," said Bella.

Both girls went silent.

"Are you sure you're okay? They're treating you right over there?"

"Definitely," laughed Bella. "Rose is great. And I'm working now, so I'll be on my own shortly."

"Good," said Angela. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Just…" Bella struggled for words. "Just keep being you. I've been such a shitty friend, but here you are anyways…"

"You're not a shitty friend," admonished Angela. "You've just had a rough time lately, that's all…"

"Understatement of the year," scorned Bella, though she knew Angela would hear the laughter in her voice.

"Yeah, I suppose so," sighed Angela. "I mean it though, Bella. Call me. Write. _Something."_

"I will. I'll send you the address for this place in case you want to write."

"I will write," said Angela. "Every damn day if I have to. Just please don't disappear on me again."

"I won't."

"I love you."

"Love you too," said Bella, taking a deep breath. She did not want to let Angela go, but she knew that she could not stay on the phone indefinitely…

"I'll call you again. We can set up a time."

"Okay."

"Tell me all your news."

"I will."

"I love you."

"You too."

Bella's throat tightened.

"I'll let you go then," said Angela. "I'll let mom know you're alright."

"Okay."

"Don't cry," warned Angela. "If you start, I'll start, and then I really won't forgive you…"

"I'm not crying," said Bella, knowing full well that Angela could hear every hiccup and sniffle.

"You're an awful liar," she said, and Bella smiled.

"Talk to you later Ange," she said. "I'll keep you posted."

"Bye."

"Bye."

When the line clicked, Bella listened to the dial tone for a few minutes, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself under control. She did not want to go out and face Rosalie with a face glazed with tears, so she took care to wipe her cheeks and take a deep breath before she opened the office door.

Rose was sitting at the reception desk, her back to the office as she worked away on some paperwork. When the door opened she glanced up, smiling.

"Did it go well?" she asked. "Not too many tears, I hope?"

"It was really good," said Bella, forcing a smile. "I miss her."

"I'm sure she misses you too," said Rose. "She sounded very eager when I spoke with her."

"She is," said Bella. "I think she wants to kill me, but she was glad we could talk." Rose laughed.

"Well, that's something," she said. "I'm glad it went well. If you want to arrange another date, just let me know and we can work it out."

"Thanks Rose," said Bella. "I really appreciate it."

"Anytime." There was a moment of silence before Bella turned, prepared to move quietly back up the stairs so Rosalie could continue her work, but when she caught sight of the slight frown on Rose's face, she hesitated.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Everything is good," said Rose. "It's just…"

"Yes?" A nervous fluttering was growing in Bella's midriff.

"It's nothing big, but your brother called again today."

Bella shifted awkwardly.

"Oh."

"Yeah," said Rose, sitting back in her chair. "I don't want to push, but I really think you should talk to him. You don't have to go back with him, but at least let him know what's going on… he seems worried."

"Yeah," said Bella, though her voice sounded hard and cool, even to her own ears. "I might."

"Bella…"

"It's fine, Rose," she said, shaking her head. "I'm just kind of tired. Can I go up now?"

"Of course," she said, her frown deepening. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine."

And as Bella walked up the stairs, moving as quickly as she could to get into her bedroom, the joy she had felt on the phone with Angela was replaced with the familiar feeling of lurking worry.

* * *

Bella held the little slip of paper in her hand, her cheeks bright with excitement and her chest full of warm, blushing pride. She read the numbers over and over in her head, grinning from ear to ear, while Rosalie watched from the sidelines with an indulgent smile.

"Pleased with it?" she asked, laughing when Bella nodded.

"Very pleased," she said. "I didn't expect it to be so…"

"Generous?" finished Rose. Bella nodded.

"Yeah. Back in Seattle I wasn't even near this…"

"Well, Alice is a good employer," said Rose. "She makes sure all of her staff earns a decent living wage. And remember, the cost of living is much higher here than it is in Seattle…"

"I know," said Bella, shaking her head. "It's nothing crazy, but I just…"

"Your first pay check is always exciting," said Rose. "I get it. Trust me."

Bella could not stop her cheesy grin.

"Well, that's yours to do with as you please," said Rose. "You can spend it, save it, both…"

"I don't know," said Bella. "I mean, I…"

"It's your money," laughed Rose, backing away when Bella looked askance. "I can't tell you how to spend it."

"I just feel like…" began Bella, but Rosalie, sensing where Bella was going, cut her off before she could finish.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said, her voice a little sharp. "What would be the point in you even being here if I was going to garnish your wages?"

"Well, I mean…" said Bella. "You feed me, clothe me, house me…"

"So that you can get back on your feet," said Rose, speaking a little slowly. "You can't get back on your feet if I start taking your money."

Bella could not deny her logic, but she still felt little awkward.

"What's most important to you right now?" asked Rose. "Do you need new clothes? Is there something you want to eat that we don't stock? What about shoes? Those have got a hole in the toe…" She pointed down at Bella's old Chucks, but Bella shook her head.

"I want to get my own place," said Bella quietly, wondering if she sounded ungrateful by doing so. "I mean, this place is wonderful, but…"

"No, absolutely," said Rose, smiling. "I can help you look for some apartments, if you want me to. It'll be a few weeks, maybe a few months, before you'll really be able to afford it, but there's no shame in looking."

"That would be great," said Bella.

"I'll get looking tonight then," she said. "We can make appointments around your work schedule, and I'd be more than happy to drive you out to see some. Make sure you always take someone with you—you never know what kinds of weirdos you'll find."

Bella laughed.

"Thanks," she said. "I'll look forward to it."

"As will I," said Rose. "Now go upstairs. You work early in the morning."

When Bella flashed one last, toothy grin and loped gracefully up the stairs, Rose watched her with an honest, fond eye. Rose loved all the women that came through her shelter, but even she had to admit, it was rare to find one so determined to succeed as Bella was. When her brother had called her so suddenly in the middle of the afternoon when he was supposed to be working, she had been more than a little surprised.

" _Rose, I need a favour."_

" _What is it?" Jasper was supposed to be at work. Rose immediately thought of Alice…_

" _I'm at the hospital," he said, and Rose's heart sank._

" _Alice isn't having problems, is she?" It had been only three weeks prior that Alice had called her in the middle of the night while Jasper was away for a training seminar, bawling like a baby over the phone. When Rosalie jumped in her car and sped over to her brother's quaint, unassuming little house, she had found her sister-in-law in her bathroom, blood on her pants and on the floor…_

 _That had been the third time in their six years of marriage, and Rose knew that this last one had hit them both hard._

" _No, she's alright," said Jasper, his voice growing soft as he fought to rein in his sadness. Rose knew her brother well enough to know that while he would never say it out loud, a big part of him was still mourning that little life that would never be._

" _What is it?"_

" _I've got a girl here," he said. "We found her outside the café, underneath some pallets. We think she's homeless, but we're not sure. We haven't been able to talk to her, but she's in rough shape… someone beat up her face pretty good and I think she's been knifed."_

 _Rose frowned._

" _I've got space if she needs it," said Rose. "What's her name?"_

" _We don't know."_

" _Jane Doe it is."_

Rosalie had expected, based on that strange conversation with her brother, that the unnamed Jane Doe would be the same as all the other Jane Does that came through Invictus. Time and time again Rose saw the result of violence, both domestic or otherwise, and the trauma that followed suit. Some of the women she had here had been occupying rooms in her establishment sporadically for almost a year, and with each return, she felt her confidence sinking lower and lower. When she had first opened Invictus, she had been so full of hope for success… in her mind, each and every woman she came across would be bettered by their stay with her, and after giving them the time and space to recuperate and get back on their feet, she would set them free like little fledgling birds to make their mark on the world.

Even now, such a short time after those optimistic imaginings, Rose could not help but laugh at the sunny, almost poetic nonsense of her early days. She had dreamed of accomplishment and success for each of her girls, but what she found instead was the most gritty, prosaic reality she would ever have to face. Before her dream of healing could be fulfilled, Rose would come face-to-face with the immediate aftermath of trauma. Before she could see them fly, Rose would sit with these women in the emergency department, listening to them rehash the worst days of their lives. She would hold their hands as the doctors checked them, or while they fought their way through withdrawals. She would be called at bedtime to handle violent flashbacks, or be dragged from her sleep at 3 in the morning to find one of her girls, strung up by her neck in the bathroom, having lost the battle against the invisible demons that haunted her. Time and time again, Rose would watch the women she'd so lovingly picked up tumble down again, and while it tore at her heartstrings to have to do it, she would always be ready to prop them back up.

But in Bella, Rose saw something different.

In Bella, Rose saw hope.

When the phone on the desk rang out, startling her from her reveries, she knew who it would be before she even picked it up.

"You know, you really need to stop blowing up my phone," she said. "I've already given you everything I can."

"How is she today?" The man sounded defeated. "Has she said anything?"

"She got her first pay check," said Rosalie, smiling. "She's pretty proud."

"Good, good…"

There was a long pause.

"Will she talk to me?"

"I doubt it," said Rose. "She's gone upstairs. I'll let her know you called. _Again."_

"Thanks." The dejection in his voice was almost too much for her to take.

"Listen," she said, her urge to help rearing up. "She seems to be doing well enough. She's liking her job and we're going to start house hunting soon."

"She can stay with me," said Emmett quickly. "She doesn't need to…"

"No," agreed Rose, biting back the scathing remark that lurked on the edge of her tongue. "But she wants to."

"She wants to be on her own, you mean."

"Yes."

"All I want is…"

"I know what you want," sighed Rose. "But you need to give her time. She loves you. I know she does. But…"

"But?"

"But she's confused. And sad. And a little scared, I think."

"Of what?"

"I don't know," admitted Rose. "I really don't. But whatever it is, it's real enough to her. And if you don't respect her space you're going to lose her."

"I'm not trying to scare her!"

"Did I say that?" snapped Rose, her temper getting the better of her. "All I said is that we need to respect her privacy. Is that so hard? You've already been doing it for 12 years!"

Rose knew that she had spoken too harshly when the line went quiet.

"Will you tell her I called?" His voice was curt. "Let her know that I miss her."

"Hey…" said Rose, backtracking. "I didn't mean…"

"Thanks Rosalie," said Emmett. "If I don't hear back, I'll call again tomorrow."

"But…"

"Goodbye."

The phone clicked and the line went dead before Rosalie had a chance to reply.

 **A/N: Thanks for your patience. Sorry for the wait.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Bella could not help it when she put her hand to her nose, trying her best to block the smell of ammonia. She could barely listen as a strange man, the building manager, spoke in his monotone, bored voice about thermostats, electricity bills, the laundromat down the street, and the elderly next-door neighbour who _never_ had loud parties. The ad on Craigslist, which had looked so promising, was once again leaving her hanging, and she was beginning to wonder whether or not she would ever find someplace suitable.

"What's the neighbourhood like? Any public transit nearby?" Bella had almost forgotten about Rosalie, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with a look on her face that said quite clearly that this was not the place. Bella knew she would ask, as she had done at the previous three viewings, but as they had at those ones, they would leave without hesitation.

The small kitchen they were standing in was a low-ceilinged, yellow-walled room with a smattering of cabinets and an old, rusted-out oven in the corner. Bella could see the stain on the floor where the refrigerator had once stood, and when she walked across the room with her sneakers on, she could feel her feet sticking. The living room, just a few steps away, was carpeted in dull grey, and though she could not be sure she suspected that this was the source of the smell. She knew the building was pet-friendly (she'd seen a number of furry faces poking out of windows on her way up), and by the smell of things, this apartment had been home to any number of cats over the years. The bedroom, which Rose had refused to enter, included a sagging, queen-sized bed and newspaper cuttings on the window, which let in only a fraction of the bright, California sun.

Bella had only poked her head into the bathroom, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the mildew in the tub and the grime around the sink.

"Of course, it'll be cleaned up before you move in," wheezed the man, resting against the wall. He seemed good-natured enough, she supposed, but Bella had a persistent conscience that demanded to know whether this man took as much pride in his maintenance skills as he did in his personal appearance. He was a very shabby-looking man, with a long, flabby face and slicked, greasy dark hair. He had removed his ball cap when the two women had approached him, and Bella had found herself quietly wishing that he'd kept it on. His beard, which he evidently did not take much care to maintain, was growing in patches, and the muscle-tee he had chosen for the day was about three sizes too small.

When he hefted himself up again to walk past them into the living room, Bella caught the faint scent of sweat, and something that reminded her of old clothes that had been left too long in the washing machine.

"Yes, well…" said Rose, clearing her throat with a significant look at Bella. "Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch."

"You'd fit in here awful well," said the man eagerly. "I mean…" He looked Bella up and down, his eyes raking over her.

"Yes," said Rose. There was a new hardness in her voice. "We'll just be going…"

"Naw, I didn't mean it like that!" he said. "I just mean it'll be nice to have some good, quiet tenants in here…"

Bella could not help the little frown that crossed her face.

"As I said," repeated Rose, taking Bella by the hand. "We'll be in touch. Thank you, Mr.…"

"Call me Ronnie," said the man, waving a dismissive hand. "That'll be just fine…"

"Thanks Ronnie," said Rose. "Let's go, Bella."

"Thanks."

"You've got my card," said Ronnie.

Rosalie said nothing as she pulled Bella insistently from the apartment. They were up on the fourth floor and the staircase was long, but neither of them spoke until they had re-emerged at the bottom, stepping out into the humid, claustrophobic California heat.

"Good lord," gasped Rose, taking a deep breath once they were outside. "I don't think I took a breath the whole time we were in there!"

Bella could not help but laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she sniggered, shaking her head as Rose took a little bottle of sanitizer out of her bag. When offered, Bella accepted a large dollop. "It really didn't look that bad…"

"They never do," said Rose, fighting back a smile of her own.

"No, really," insisted Bella, buckling herself in to the passenger's seat. "I'm serious. It had nice pictures, and lots of light, and a decent…"

"Mhm."

"I'm serious!" protested Bella. "It looked alright…"

"Well," laughed Rose. "We're out now. I think I'm going to need about ten showers after today, but I'll make it."

Bella snorted.

"I really am sorry," she said again, trying her best to keep her sniggers to herself. "Truly…"

"Ah, it's not your fault," said Rose, shaking her head. "I'd have done the same thing. We're doing my choices next week, and I'm sure there will be just as many duds, if not more…"

"I don't know how you managed to find so many," complained Bella. "I was online for almost two hours, and I only found those four…"

"Connections, my dear," said Rose. "Connections are everything."

"What connections?" demanded Bella. "You were on the same websites…"

"Yes, but I've learned over the years where to look and where not to look. Plus, Jasper helped…"

"Jasper?" asked Bella, shocked. "What does he know about it?"

"He's a cop," said Rose, rolling her eyes. "You know better than anyone… cops always know where the good areas are."

"That's true, I guess…" said Bella. She had rarely seen that side of Charlie's work, but she supposed Rose was right—her father would have known all about the shadier areas of Seattle.

"Well, we've only looked at six," said Rose gently. "Los Angeles is a huge city. We'll find something, I'm sure…"

"I hope so," said Bella. She would never admit it, especially not to Rosalie, but she was beginning to feel quite discouraged in her house hunting mission. She had started out so confident, so eager and ready, that with each successive blow, a little of her excitement and eagerness was chipped away. Of course, Rose had warned her that a house-hunt with Bella's budget in such a big city was going to be a challenge, but like everyone who was eager for something they had never tried, Bella had thought these doubts were exaggerated.

Bella was learning that Rosalie was, more often than not, right.

"Don't get frustrated just yet," said Rose, seeming to sense Bella's secret mood. "We've barely scratched the surface. For every decent place around here, there are probably twenty shitholes like the one back there."

Bella smiled.

"I know," she sighed. "It's just… well…"

"I know," said Rose. "It's hard. But we'll find something."

Bella sighed, resting her head against the window.

"Look on the bright side—now we know which areas of town to avoid."

Bella had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing.

* * *

"And it was _awful."_ Bella let out a shudder as she wiped down the last of the tables, trying to look offended at the amused laughter on Alice's face.

"What did Rosalie say?" she crowed. "Oh, she _hates_ anything being dirty…"

Bella blushed.

"She didn't say anything."

"She must _really_ like you."

"Well…" Bella stammered, unable to think of a reply. "I mean…"

"Trust me," snorted Alice. "The fact that she stayed in there and didn't run away screaming says enough."

"Her choices will be better, I'm sure," said Bella, tossing her head. "They looked _decent_ on the internet…"

"They always do!" laughed Alice.

Bella, unable to respond, scrubbed at a particularly sticky spot on the tabletop. Alice laughed again, as she always seemed to do.

"That's good, Bella. You can go home if you want to." She reached over and took the cloth for herself. Bella frowned, biting her lip when she saw the time on the clock.

"I've got fifteen minutes left," she said.

"I know," said Alice, "but don't worry about it. You've done your share for today. If you go now, you might catch the next bus."

"Thanks Alice."

"Don't mention it. Say hi to Rose for me."

"Will do!"

"See you on Wednesday?"

"Definitely."

"Bye Miss Bella!" Tyler's voice rang out from the storeroom. "See you later!"

"Bye Tyler!"

When Bella, her night made better by Alice's early dismissal, stepped off of the bus three blocks from Invictus, she took her time walking down the bustling, noisy street. The sun was just starting to fall behind the tall buildings on the west end of the city, and if she stopped to peer between the bank and an old apartment block, she could see the silhouette of a languid palm tree against the orange horizon. It was the little things like this that Bella was growing to love best. While she was sure a California native would have little admiration for palm trees—they were so commonplace in Los Angeles, after all—Bella made a deliberate effort to notice them. Although they were only a tiny part of the whole, Bella had begun to realize that sometimes it was the small things, like breezy coconut trees, that could make her feel happy. She had grown so accustomed to a life filled with hardships that she had started to wonder whether or not it was really worth it. The world around her had grown too dark too quickly, and like anyone who is steeped in shadows after living in sunshine, it had taken her eyes some time to adjust. It was only now, as she was beginning to regain her footing, that she could appreciate those little sparks of beauty against a black and gloomy sky, and she felt all the better for it.

When she snuck in the back door of Invictus, Rose raised a questioning brow at the silly grin on her face.

"Care to share?"

"Nothing," sighed Bella, shrugging as she slipped out of her apron. "It's just pretty outside today."

Rose laughed.

"I'm glad," she said. "It's nice to see you smile."

Bella smiled even wider in response.

"You ready for our outing tomorrow?" she asked. "I've got my eye on our 10 o'clock… it looks promising."

"Definitely," said Bella. "Where is it?"

"A few miles from here," said Rose, gesturing vaguely south. "Closer to work for you, but further from here."

"Ah."

"We'll see how it goes tomorrow," said Rose. "I refuse to get my hopes up until we've seen it. After the places you dragged me to last week…"

Bella snorted.

"I—"

A witty response, which came so easily to her when she was alone with Rosalie, was cut short by the jangling of the telephone in Rose's office.

"Stay there," said Rose, a wicked grin on her face. "I'll be right back." Bella, shaking her head, sat carefully in a plush armchair next to the reception desk as Rose jogged into her open office, stretching herself over the desk to snatch the handset of her desk phone.

"Invictus Women's Center, Rosalie speaking."

Bella, trying not to listen in, focused her attention on untying the knot in the strings of her apron. She did not know exactly how she managed to do it day after day, but whenever she came home after work, those strings were tied into a knot so hard and tight that you would've thought she'd tied it on purpose.

It rivalled even Charlie's fishing knots, and that in itself was a feat.

"I, um…" The hesitation in Rosalie's voice made Bella pause, and her brows quirked together in a frown. Dropping the strings, she glanced up and was surprised to see Rosalie staring at her, a grimace on her face.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?" Bella stood, her apron forgotten on the chair. She took a hesitant step towards Rosalie, who looked apologetic as she covered the mouthpiece.

"Do you want to talk to your brother?"

"My… what?" asked Bella, stunted.

"He's on the line," said Rose anxiously. "I told you. He calls almost every day, but you're always upstairs."

"I…" began Bella. She could hear a male voice, loud enough for her to make out a few words, speaking through the phone.

"Please… Bella… mean… I…"

"Give her a minute," said Rose, her voice not unkind. "Bella?"

"I…"

Did she want to talk to him?

"Here," said Rose, waving Bella forward. "Just listen, if you don't want to talk."

Dumbly, Bella stepped forward. Her old anxiety, which had been suspiciously silent these past few weeks, reared its ugly head again as she held the phone in her hand, raising it carefully to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Bella," said Emmett, and she was sure she could hear him shaking.

They were silent for a long moment. Rosalie, looking apologetic, slipped out of the office and closed the door gently behind her, leaving Bella alone with the telephone.

"What…"

"I'm…"

Emmett let out a shaky laugh.

"You first," he said. "Go ahead."

"What did you want to say?" asked Bella nervously. Her words sounded stunted, even to her own ears.

"I'm sorry," said Emmett in a rush. "I didn't mean to scare you, or freak you out with those letters. I just…"

Bella took a deep breath.

"It's okay."

"Is it, though?" he asked, his voice small and meek. "I showed you the letters, and then you ran out and haven't spoken to me in almost a month. Is it okay?"

Bella had no response.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked. "Upset? Sad?"

"I don't know," said Bella, feeling as if she were being honest for the first time. "I don't know what I feel."

Emmett was silent.

"I started off scared," she admitted, her face flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't know what to think, and those letters changed _everything…"_

"What do you mean, everything?" asked Emmett.

"It changed my whole worldview," said Bella quietly. "It changed how I thought about you, it changed how I remembered dad, it changed how I felt about being here…"

"Do you want to go back home?" asked Emmett gently.

"Where is home?" asked Bella dryly. "Seattle's got nothing left for me, and I can't seem to find my footing here…"

"Home is wherever you want to go, Bell," said Emmett. "I'll help you get wherever you want to be. I…"

"I don't need help," said Bella, doing her best not to sound defensive. "I mean…"

"Everyone needs help sometimes, kiddo," said Emmett. The quaver in his voice and a loud sniffle belied the truth, and Bella couldn't help but tear up—her brother was crying.

"I'll be okay," said Bella, shaking her head to dispel the sting in her eyes. "I promise."

"I'm sorry I scared you," said Emmett, returning to the letters. "I really am."

"It's okay." This was true—Emmett could not be held accountable for her own unruly emotions.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked again.

"I…" Bella bit her lip. "I don't know, Emmett."

"Okay," he said. "Okay…"

"I just…" She listened to his heavy breathing. "I just can't figure things out."

"What things?"

"Everything."

He sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't…" Bella shook her head. "Don't be sorry."

"I'll always be sorry."

"I just…" Bella wished she could find her words. "I just don't know what to think."

"Fair enough," said Emmett. "But I hope you know that it doesn't matter how angry or scared you are—I'll always love you."

And Bella, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood, cursed him to the lowest circle of hell as the wetness pooling in her eyes overflowed.

Things would be so much easier if he hated her, as she'd spent so long believing.

"Love you too," she said, her voice cracking on the last word.

There was a long pause. Bella held the phone tightly to her ear, listening to the sound of breathing on the other end and wondering, despite a funny reluctance, if she should let him go.

"What have you been up to?" The question startled her, and she blinked twice before she could answer.

"Working," she said. "Reading. House hunting."

"House hunting?" asked Emmett, sounding surprised. "I didn't know you were already looking for your own place."

"Rosalie is helping," said Bella. "We have some showings tomorrow."

"Any promising ones?"

"Don't know," said Bella. "Rose found these ones. Mine from last week were shit."

Emmett barked out a laugh.

"Well, you've gotta cross the moat before you make it to the castle," he said. "You'll find something, I'm sure. If you need any help…"

"We're alright," said Bella, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "We'll figure it out."

"Sure, sure…" The word were lighthearted, but Bella thought she could detect a hint of heaviness behind them. Deep down, she knew that Emmett wanted nothing more than to help in any way he could, but she could not find it in her to accept it. In her mind, to accept his help would be to forgive him his past wrongs, and Bella was not quite ready to let that go just yet.

"Thanks, though," she added, clearing her throat. "For the offer."

"It still stands," said Emmett quickly. "If you change your mind, I'd be happy to help…"

"Yeah," said Bella. "Thanks."

The line was quiet once more.

"Have _you_ been back to work?" asked Bella, spying a magazine on the corner of Rose's desk. Emmett's face was plastered across the front, the words "Emmett Backing Out of Sequel?!" brandished across his chest. The picture was not a flattering one—she recognized the front of the hotel from a swanky area of downtown Seattle, and from the look of his baggy t-shirt and five o'clock shadow, it had been taken without his knowledge while he was in Washington looking for her.

As confused and sad and angry as she was towards her brother, she did not want his career to suffer because of _her_.

"Yeah," said Emmett. "Yeah, I went in today and did a few scenes. Marcus smoothed things over with the director, so…"

"That's good?" She did not mean to make it sound like a question, but Emmett laughed.

"Yeah, it's good," he said. "This guy is a piece of work, and he was threatening to end my contract, but they've already sunk too much money into it, and it's not like I just up and quit…"

"No."

"I go back full time on Monday," he continued. "I'll have to take you to a set sometime. That's a part of the city that most people don't get to see…"

"Yeah, maybe," said Bella. In truth, the idea of going behind-the-scenes on a movie set excited her, but she would not let her enthusiasm show just now.

There was an awkward pause.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?" She cleared her throat.

"Is there any way I can convince you to come back?" he asked. Bella didn't know if she'd ever heard Emmett's voice that soft. The sound tugged at her heartstrings—she did not like to hear him so upset—but she was still not ready to move past her own misgivings.

"I…" she began, trying her best not to make things worse. "I don't think…"

"Forget it," he said quickly. "Forget I asked, Bell. Don't worry about it. I just miss you, that's all."

Bella sighed.

"I don't mean to push…"

"No," said Bella. "No, it's fine…"

"I really don't. But if you ever want to come back, all you have to do is ask. Anytime…"

"Thanks."

"Anytime," he repeated. "I don't care how late it is, or if it's raining, or if you're all the way across town. If you ever want to come back, I'll come and get you."

Bella frowned as she picked at her fingernails. Emmett was making it very hard for her to stay angry.

"Thanks."

It was all she could say.

"You'll let me know how your house-hunting goes?" he asked.

"Sure."

"And will you let me have your address when you move?"

"If you want it," said Bella.

"I do," he insisted. "I really do. But only if you're okay…"

"No," said Bella, shaking her head. "I mean, yeah. That's okay."

"Good…"

Bella glanced at the clock, sighing when she saw it flashing 9.

"Well," she began. "I've got an early start with Rose in the morning."

"Oh, yeah…" said Emmett quickly. "I've kept you too long. I'll let you go now."

"Have a good night," said Bella gently. "I'm sorry I didn't call back."

"This makes up for it," said Emmett. "Thank you for talking."

"Goodnight, Em."

"Goodnight Bell. I love you."

"Love you too."

"Sleep tight."

Bella, glad that she was not expected to answer back, heard the click on his end and gently replaced the phone on its cradle.

She found Rose outside the office door, pacing quietly in the waiting area.

"Did it go okay?" she asked. "I'm sorry to put you on the spot like that… You're usually upstairs when he calls."

"It went okay," said Bella, offering a tense smile. "He was really good about it."

"You look upset," said Rose.

"I'm fine," she sighed. "He just makes it hard."

"He makes what hard?" asked Rose.

"He makes it hard for me to hate him," Bella mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Part of me wants so badly to hate him, but I can't when he's so sweet and nice, and just… so _Emmett."_

"Oh honey," said Rose, a sad grimace on her face. She drew Bella in for a hug, which Bella returned with grateful enthusiasm.

Rose's whisper was almost too quiet for Bella to make out.

"That's because you're not supposed to hate him."

 **A/N: Let me know what you think! You guys have been awfully quiet these past few chapters...**


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Bella could not help but relish the burn as she trudged up the stairs for the fourth time that morning. Her palms were sweaty and her thighs were cramping, and though she was afraid that the splintery wood would slip from her hands, she forced herself to keep her grip. _Just a little further,_ she thought. The top of the staircase was so close…

"Pick up your end a little, Bella," came Rose's strained voice as she reached the top. Bella hoisted her end up as high as she could manage, grimacing as her arms shook. She could see only a part of Rose from her vantage point, but she knew that her friend was every bit as uncomfortable as she was. Rose was bent almost in half at the middle with her fingertips clinging to the rough edge of the dining table, her hair falling loose from its bun as she panted, a furrow between her brows.

Why couldn't they have chosen the simple folding table—the one that Bella had rushed to at the old thrift store?

" _That's not a dining table,"_ Rose had scolded. _"There's a perfectly nice wooden one right over here. It'll match those cabinets…"_

 _Well,_ thought Bella, as she puffed out a frustrated breath, _What do you have to say about this table now, Rosalie?_

With an almighty grunt and a shove that hurt her shoulders, Bella wedged herself underneath her end of the table—dangling precariously over the edge of the narrow staircase—and thrust her end up high enough for Rose to pull it forward, all four legs finally planted on the third-floor landing.

Bella, with a laugh of triumph, slumped down on the staircase, resting her head on the wall.

"Thank _god,"_ said Rose, leaning on the table. "I thought we were screwed."

"Yeah," panted Bella. "So did I."

"Why did you pick such a heavy table?"

"Excuse _me,"_ laughed Bella, "but the table I wanted weighed about ten pounds. And it folded."

Rosalie snorted.

"This one's nicer," she dismissed. "Still, though… I think we almost had to call for reinforcements."

Bella grimaced.

"We made it," she said, stretching herself up again. She climbed the last few stairs with relative ease—this was the last piece of large furniture that had to be moved, and she and Rose had done it all themselves.

" _I'm sure we could get some manpower,"_ Rose had argued. _"We've still got a week before you move in, and we're already using Jasper's truck…"_

" _I'd rather not," said Bella. She knew she would regret that later on—it would definitely do her some good to have some helping hands on her side when it came time to shuffle herself into the apartment she had managed to snag. But she also knew—and more importantly,_ Rosalie _knew—that if she asked for reinforcements, there was one particular helper that would come out with overpowering enthusiasm._

 _She didn't think she was quite ready for that just yet._

"Jasper will be proud," said Rose, breaking Bella from her musings. Bella bit her lip and blinked her distraction away, taking up her end of the table again. It was still heavy—her arms were aching—but lifting it a few inches to shuffle it awkwardly through the heavy door of the apartment was nothing compared to the feat they had just accomplished.

"Tell him to pay up," Bella said. She couldn't help the wry smile that crossed her face. Jasper had been thoroughly convinced, and he hadn't hesitated to let her know it, that before the day was out, Bella would be begging for some "muscle". This speech, made in the storeroom of Alice's café just after closing a few days prior, had been met with scorn from Bella and miffed indignation from Alice herself. Rosalie, lounging against the counter with her iced coffee in hand, simply laughed and asked Jasper just how much money he was willing to put down.

"Damn right I will," said Rosalie. Bella, awkward and bumbling, accidentally kicked the doorstop out from the heavy metal door and jumped when it slammed shut behind her. The two women carefully parked the table on the far wall across from the kitchen sink, where the floor had already been swept and washed.

"That dumbass is out fifty bucks!" Rose slid one of the matching chairs—they had only been able to find three—into its place.

"Now we've only got boxes," grimaced Bella. "Thanks again for helping…"

"No problem," smiled Rose. "I'm glad we found a place."

"Yeah, me too." Bella had begun to wonder, especially after those disastrous first weeks of searching, whether or not she'd ever be able to find something worth her while. Everything within her price range had fallen somewhere on a scale between seedy and horrifying, and anything half-decent would have cost her far more than she could afford. As it was, Bella wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't need a second job to keep up with the bills in this place, but for now, she was simply glad for a roof over her head.

"Let's go get the last of it," said Rose, cracking her back as she stood. "No use dawdling when we've still got work to do."

"Right," said Bella, unable to resist another look around her new place. "Let's go."

* * *

It was only that night, once Rose had said her final goodbye, that Bella truly understood the reality of her new situation. Her new home was not some fancy mansion in luxurious Beverly Hills like her brother's—she didn't have a Jacuzzi tub, or sprawling green grass, or shiny new appliances. Her new home had exactly four rooms—living room, kitchen, bathroom, and a tiny bedroom with a squeaky window that needed a new screen to keep the bugs out. The thrift shop she and Rose had torn apart on their way from Invictus had not held a wide array of furnishings, but alongside her new table and chairs, she had managed to snag a mattress for the old twin bed, a futon, a small end table, a coffee table for the living room, and much to her delight, an ancient old bookshelf that looked like it had been through both World Wars.

The apartment was hot and muggy, and there was a vague scent of mothballs from the old box of clothes in the bedroom closet, but despite all this, Bella was happy.

This house was _hers_ , and she couldn't help but love it.

As she sat on the floor in the dark living room, Bella carefully unpacked the boxes that had been brought up that morning. While Bella had begun to set herself up that afternoon, Rose had graciously volunteered to drive Jasper's truck up to Beverly Hills to pick up some of Bella's boxes from Emmett's garage. Bella had only briefly spoken with Emmett himself—he knew she was moving into her new apartment today—but she still didn't feel ready to meet him face-to-face. She knew that sooner or later she would have to meet up with him again, but she had no idea what she would say to him when she did.

When Rose had come back with the truck and some boxes, Bella had been overjoyed to see her books among them. Rose had laughed at her when she'd hopped lithely into the back of the truck and scooped that one up, trying not to let Rose see her struggling with the weight. She had made it up the stairs just in time to let it slip from her hands and come crashing down, spilling books all over her kitchen floor just as Rose appeared holding a box of clothes.

" _Nice one, Bella," she teased, stepping carefully over the mess. Bella, blushing red, had haphazardly shoved the thick volumes back into the box so she could nudge it into the living room with her foot, ignoring Rose's laughter._

 _When the two of them returned to the truck, each managing another box, Rose spoke again._

" _Emmett sends his regards," she said. Her tone was light and airy but Bella could sense something else—a sort of strange apprehension—underneath._

" _Oh yeah?" she said, pressing her way up the staircase._

" _Yeah," said Rose. "I told him where you are."_

" _Hm."_

" _I hope that's okay," said Rose. She let Bella through the apartment door first._

" _That's fine," said Bella. She had promised Emmett on at least two occasions—over the phone, of course—that she would let him know where she was settling._

" _He, uh, wants to know if he can stop by sometime," said Rose._

Bella became suddenly aware that she could no longer see the titles of the books she was stacking. The sky outside had darkened—it had been a bright, blushing pink when she'd first sat down—and while the glow from the large, full moon streamed in through her bare windows, it was not enough for her to get anything done.

Carefully, she scooted in the general direction of the futon, thankful that she had plugged in her reading lamp while she could still see. Pawing her way carefully along the floor—she refused to walk, knowing she would trip and fall—she found the cord and the switch with the little wheel. The lamp was bright and she blinked in the harsh light, turning her face away to survey the carnage.

Boxes were littered across the living room floor and there was a pile of packing peanuts heaped lazily in the corner. In the middle of the floor, where she had been unboxing her books, was a wad of tape stuck to the grey carpet, and she could see the group of abandoned boxes against the kitchen cabinets. Bella couldn't decide what she wanted unpacked first—she had started with her clothing, but had quickly grown bored. She had moved on to the kitchen, grabbing up the dishes she had scrounged up, but that had quickly been replaced by the box of books. She had been saving those for last—she was weird enough to think that unpacking books was a _treat_ —but with no one to check her, she had been unable to resist.

Sitting back against the unopened boxes, however, Bella was beginning to wish she'd done some grocery shopping that day. As if in answer to the thought of food her stomach snarled and she pressed her palm against it waiting with a grimace until it fell silent.

She supposed she would have to wait until the next day to venture out in search of victuals. She knew there was a 24-hour supermarket a some blocks away, but there was some deep and primal part of her that still feared the city after dark.

* * *

Bella slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning on her new bed and fresh sheets. The pangs of hunger in her stomach—nowhere near the worst she'd ever felt—were coupled with the uncomfortable, intrusive feeling that always accompanies a strange sleeping place. Her new apartment was warm and safe from the rain outside, and if she squinted through the dingy, rattling window, she could see palm trees on a faraway boulevard. The smell, while different to her, was not a bad one, but the longer she breathed it in, the more she yearned for the familiar smell of her room at Invictus. That room had smelled like lemons and pine.

Bella knew it would take some time to adjust and she was sure she'd be happy once she did. But as the clock struck 3 while she tossed and turned in a fitful cycle of napping and waking, it was all she could do not to crawl out of her bed and walk the hour or so it would take her to return to Invictus.

But Bella knew that if she did that, Rose would be disappointed and her brother would worry.

And when Emmett worried, he called.

A lot.

The rain on the window outside tapped a steady rhythm into the dark, drowning out the strange creaking and cracking of the old building. Bella had learned, as she was trying to fall asleep, that when her upstairs neighbour ran the tap or flushed the toilet, the pipe in the wall of her bathroom would rattle. When the old lady next door walked on a certain part of the floor, Bella heard her own floorboards creak. It had taken her three agonizing, frantic excursions into the darkened living room to realize that there was no intruder, and she had only managed to fall into a restless sleep once she had given in to her childish fear of the dark and left the living room lamp on.

Bella hoped the cost wouldn't reflect too harshly on her electricity bill the next month.

That was also the first morning that Bella, growing used to the lengthening spring days, was not appreciative of the bright, hot sun rising over the horizon. On an average day, Bella admired the way the sun always seemed to glow, even under a cover of clouds when the world seemed dim and listless. Having never left Washington until a few months ago, Bella felt like a strange solar tourist every time she woke to the bright, fresh dawn of a new day. Each morning she was amazed by the array of colours, as if the sun was shining through a great celestial prism. At Invictus, she had almost always risen in time to see the black brightening to blue, then to purple and pink, and finally, to a bright orange halo around a blinding white orb. Once the orange dissipated, Bella was almost always ready for her day, eager to watch as the sun dipped back down again, the curtain of colour falling over the sky as gently and beautifully as it had when it had risen.

That morning, however, with itchy eyes and stiff limbs, Bella pressed her face into the fluffy pillow and groaned, squeezing her eyes shut against the bright, eastern light streaming in through the glass.

 _Perhaps tonight,_ she thought, _she would sleep on the futon._

She had no shift at the café to prepare for, nor was she expected anywhere else for the remainder of the week. Alice had been all too excited when Bella had told her about the move, and Alice, in her kind, thoughtful way, had given Bella a long weekend to get herself settled. Bella was not used to being away from the café on Fridays, especially now that things were getting so busy, but Bella knew that so long as Alice was there, there was no way she could sneak down for a few hours of work.

" _You need balance, Bella,"_ Alice had said, her voice a gentle admonishment when Bella had balked at the idea of time off. _"You spend half your life in here."_

" _I want to work," protested Bella. "I mean, I'm the newest one here…"_

" _Oh pfft…" Alice brushed her off. "You have good reason. You're not even asking me for the time, it's being given to you. Don't worry about anything here. We've got it covered. And we can balance your checks, so it won't affect your wages all that much…"_

 _Behind the bar, Tyler was snickering. For some reason, he loved watching Alice and Bella's banter._

" _Quiet you," said Alice, her voice stern but her face smiling. "Keep it up and I'll put you on the register while she's gone. I miss playing barista, and I know how you just_ love _cash…"_

 _Tyler bit his lip and turned back to the sideboard, focusing his attention on the French press._

" _That's what I thought," laughed Alice smugly. "And as for you…" she turned back to Bella. "You come in if you have a minute and let me know how it's all going. Your employee discount still works, even if you're not on the clock."_

" _Discount," snorted Bella, shaking her head. Alice, having so few employees, considered free breakfast bagels and coffee a "discount". Bella considered it borderline theft._

" _Have a good move," she said. "Now get out of here before you start wiping my counters. Go on!"_

 _Bella, shaking her head, regretfully handed over the rag she was using on the tables and slumped out of the room, leaving Alice laughing in her wake._

Bella wondered, as she slipped her feet into a pair of socks, if Alice would ever really understand her desire to work. She supposed Alice thought her enthusiasm was a farce—she certainly acted surprised enough every time Bella volunteered to work extra shifts, or take on unpleasant tasks. Just last week, she had been trying to cajole Jasper into cleaning the washrooms while she worked in the office, (" _Just this once!"_ she had said) and she had stared at Bella like she had two heads when she'd volunteered.

" _That's not your job,"_ Alice had said, scandalized. _"You're not here to scrub toilets."_

" _I really don't mind."_

" _Of course you do," said Alice, her lip curled. "No, that's one of our jobs…"_

" _Really," said Bella, handing Alice the keys to the register. "I don't mind."_

 _And she didn't. Bella could never say she_ liked _cleaning the men's room, but the register was quiet and she didn't feel right standing around doing nothing._

" _Bella…" said Alice, sighing when Bella dodged her outstretched hand._

" _Where do you keep the mops?"_

The yawn that escaped her when she groggily dragged herself out of bed was one of those inescapable, squeaky ones that made her eyes stream. Rubbing her eyes, she made her way to the bathroom to wash her face with cool water before she brushed her teeth, her fingers clumsy and stiff. The apartment was already getting hot so Bella chose her clothing accordingly. She was glad her home was on the third floor. She had a kitchen to unpack and groceries to pick up, but she would be able to crack some windows while she was gone.

By the time the kitchen was all unpacked and her cabinets ready for food, the clock on the old stove was flashing 9:00. Knowing that it was safe enough to venture outside, Bella stuffed her feet into her old, worn-out Chucks and grabbed her keys and purse. She smiled when she slid her key into the brand-new doorknob and felt the lock _click_ when she turned it, slipping the key into the back pocket of her jeans.

Grocery shopping was a different beast altogether, seeing as there was nothing whatsoever in the house for her to start with. As she pushed the cart around the store, she lamented the stock of staple items she'd always had on hand in Seattle—she couldn't even imagine what this lot would cost her. Everything from milk to bread to rice seemed to be more expensive here than she was used to, and the more she piled in, the more she knew she'd have to prune her already sparse list.

As she slid her bank card into the machine at the checkout, Bella knew she would have a fun time trying to get it all home. Using her watch, Bella had timed her walk to the store—a route which took her down side streets and alleys (she wanted to avoid main streets as much as possible). It had taken her thirty minutes to walk, which was not a bad time at all, but with her arms full of heavy grocery bags, Bella knew it would take her much longer to walk back.

"Have a good day!" chirped the girl at the register. Bella offered her a smile, taking hold of the sturdy canvas handles of her new bags, and heaved them one by one onto her shoulders, arms, and wrists, taking the last—and heaviest—by both hands. By the time she made it to the automatic doors of the supermarket, her arms were already aching and numb, and it was with a wince and a determined glare at the hot, rippling asphalt that she began to walk.

She could hear the milk sloshing against the plastic jug, and she could feel the corner of a box—either the crackers or the pasta—digging in to her thigh. Each time she had to stop and readjust herself she felt her arms protest the redistribution of weight. She was sure she would have some spectacular bruises by the next morning, and if she wasn't careful, Alice would be sure to question her about it. Alice had told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she needed to avail herself of Jasper's truck again that she was more than welcome, but Bella could not bring herself to impose on them like that. Jasper and Alice lived nearly an hour away, and Bella would not make either one of them drive out to her for such a simple thing as groceries. Besides, she was managing just fine…

Bella was only glad that she had managed to cross the intersection and was off the sidewalk when the handle on her brand new canvas bag tore away from the whole, sending her canned goods rolling across the ground.

"Goddamn it," she growled, watching with dismay as cans rolled in every direction. Her pasta sauce stopped when it hit the wall of the bank, and the few cans of corn she had found in the clearance aisle hit the empty dumpster with a loud _clang._

Setting her bags down, she stormed over and began collecting cans, thrusting them one by one into the other bags, praying to God that they wouldn't tear when she tried to pick them back up.

She didn't notice the truck pulling up behind her until a familiar deep voice rang out.

"Hey!"

Bella, not expecting to hear anyone in the deserted alleyway, felt her heart leap into her throat as she wheeled around, face flushed. It took her only a moment to recognize the face—not the one she had been dreading—and she forced herself to calm down.

 _She was safe._

"Hey," she said, shuffling her bag of cans and milk awkwardly from hand to hand. He was wearing his sunglasses, like he always did in public, and he was dressed in a simple t-shirt, but even that would not keep his rabid fans away if they discovered him here. When Emmett saw what she was doing, he rushed forward to help, and Bella bit her lip as he scooped up the remaining cans of corn from their place by the trash.

"I've got…" began Emmett, but he fell silent when Bella spoke at the same time.

"How did you…" said Bella, but when she saw what stood behind him, her mouth flew open. "Oh!"

"Yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I got it fixed."

Behind him, running as quietly and easily as it must have done on its first day on the road, was her old, red Chevy truck. Bella could not help the smile that spread across her face as she put her bags down in the dirt, taking a few steps forward.

"I…" began Bella, clearing her throat. Emmett, his eyes wide, stared as she approached. Bella wondered if he'd reach out to hug her—it seemed like something he'd do—but she was surprised when he simply reached out a hand.

"Yeah," he said. "I figured it would be a nice housewarming gift."

"Housewarming?" asked Bella, feeling stupid. She had been so sure her truck was done for…

"Yeah, housewarming," said Emmett. "You know, when someone gets a new place and you get them something?"

"I know what housewarming is," laughed Bella, shaking her head. For a moment, she forgot she was angry with him.

Emmett certainly did not want to remind her.

"Yeah, so…"

He held out a key ring to her. Bella saw the familiar old metal key, glinting in the light, but she also noticed a new remote starter.

"Thanks," she said, speaking softly as she examined it. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," said Emmett. "I figured you'd like it back."

"I do," she said, unable to pretend otherwise. It went against her nature to accept gifts—especially a gift of this magnitude, and _especially_ from her brother—but she could not help it.

"Well, it's yours now."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Emmett stared down at her as Bella investigated the keys, but even he could see that it was a ploy. Bella had never been good at small talk, and neither she nor Emmett knew quite what to say.

"So," began Emmett, clearing his throat. "Your license is in the glove compartment. It was in the wallet on the seat when I picked it up."

"Right."

"Also…" he sounded hesitant. Bella glanced up, glad to see that he was now staring at the dark gravel.

"Would you mind driving me back up to my place?" he asked. "I didn't expect to see you on the street, and I was going to call a cab from your new place, but…"

"Sure," said Bella. "Of course. Yeah…"

"Great."

"No problem."

The alley was silent.

"Are you seriously walking with all this?" asked Emmett quietly, gesturing around to the bags strewn on the ground.

"I was," said Bella, "until that bag broke."

"Damn bag." Emmett's feeble joke made her smile.

"Yeah. Damn bag."

"Well, you've got wheels now," he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the truck. "It's got a full tank, the insurance is up to date, and my mechanic says it's running like a dream. He fixed the clutch."

Bella smiled.

"Good," she said. That had been one of the hardest things to adjust to when she'd first started driving it back in high school. She remembered having to take side streets and back roads wherever she went, since it had taken her forever to learn how to restart it when it inevitably stalled after long bouts of driving.

Only after she had stalled on the exit of the freeway with Charlie in the passenger's seat had her father finally given in and taken it to a mechanic, who had fixed the stalling issue but not the clutch.

"Yeah." Emmett cleared his throat. Bella didn't have a chance to speak before he snatched up the majority of her bags in one scoop and began walking towards the truck. When he opened the door to the back seat she scrambled after him with the bread and eggs, placing them carefully on the seat where she hoped they would not get broken. After he slammed the door (the door still required some forceful handling), he slid into the passenger's seat and produced a black ball cap from the dash, pulling it low over his face.

Bella supposed he didn't want to be recognized.

"How did you know I was walking there?" she asked, testing the remote starter. The truck rumbled to life at the touch of a button, and Bella grinned.

"I didn't," admitted Emmett. "I work this afternoon, so I knew I would have to bring the truck by this morning if you were going to get it today. It only came out of the shop last night."

"Right," said Bella, pulling onto the road.

"I called Rosalie and got your address again, and she told me how to get to your place. I went up and knocked, but you didn't answer."

"I had no food," she explained, gesturing to the bags.

"So I figured I'd drive around for a bit and try again in a little while. It's a bit of a drive to my place, and I didn't want to go all the way back without dropping it off…"

"So you were just driving by and saw me?"

"Yep," said Emmett. "I try to keep to side streets—if I went driving around in the middle of the main drag with that, every baseball cap in the world couldn't hide me."

Bella grinned.

"Well, thanks," she said. "You came at a wonderful time."

Emmett chuckled.

"You know there are things called taxis, right?" he teased, and Bella felt her cheeks flush.

"Taxis cost _money,_ " she said, "which I am trying not to spend."

Bella had intended her words to be joking, but when Emmett's face fell she could almost feel the awkwardness.

"Do you need money?" he asked, refusing to meet her gaze when her eyes snapped over. The last time he had offered—over the phone at Invictus—Bella had all but blown up in a fit of temper and she hadn't taken his calls for three days afterwards. She knew she had hurt him, but the thought of taking charity from Emmett—pity money, she was sure—had sent her reeling.

"No," she said quickly. She wished he would look up. "Thanks though."

"Anytime. I mean it."

"I know you do."

"Yeah."

He picked at his fingernails.

"I…" she began, turning carefully into the parking lot of her building. Emmett, seeming relieved that she had not blown up, chanced a glance at her and found her anxious and fidgety.

"I'msorryforbeingabrat." The words came out in a rush, and Emmett, snorting with laughter, shook his head.

"You don't need to be sorry," he said for the umpteenth time. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again—I'll be around whenever you decide to forgive me."

Bella sighed.

"You wanna come in?" she asked quietly, opening the door and snatching a few of the bags from the back. Emmett slid out after her, taking the rest, as he nodded his assent.

"Sure."

"I'm on the third floor," she said, forgetting that he already knew. "305."

"Rose told me."

"Right."

Bella let him go first—he was a much faster walker—and trailed up after him. He waited patiently for her to unlock her door, frowning when she managed to open it.

"Do you have a deadbolt?" he asked, examining the doorknob. Bella shook her head.

"No," she said. "But the knob locks."

"Yeah…" said Emmett, and Bella knew he was biting his tongue. In truth, Bella had felt her own misgivings about the flimsy door lock, but the manager had assured her that the building was safe, and Jasper's search of the address had turned up nothing shady…

"It works for me," she shrugged, reaching around him to open the empty fridge. She gestured to the table, and he sat.

"You have a phone?" he asked, looking around. "Or a computer?"

"No," said Bella. She busied herself with the milk.

"You should have one," he said, and while Bella felt the beginnings of indignation, she knew he wasn't wrong.

"It's on my list," she said. "I had to pay first and last for this place, and that drained me for a bit. Next pay is going towards rent again, but after that I should be able to get myself some kind of phone. Cheap ones aren't that expensive…"

"I could put you on my plan," said Emmett quickly, looking eager. "I can have up to five numbers on it, and I've only got three…"

"Three?" asked Bella, pointedly ignoring his offer. She did not have time to sort through the moral quandary of accepting his charity. "For who?"

Bella, having kept up with the tabloids, knew that Emmett had broken up with his girlfriend, Heidi, and she had heard nothing more than that. Had her brother been holding out on her?

"My personal phone," he said, pulling a shiny black iPhone out of his jeans. "One phone that I keep at the house for emergencies, and my work phone."

"What kind of emergencies?" asked Bella, stuffing pasta and rice into her cabinet. While it had felt like a lot to carry home, the more she put in her cabinets the more she realized how sparse her pantry really was. When Emmett tried to glance inside, she quickly closed the door.

"If they can't reach me on my personal line," shrugged Emmett. "Leah knows to answer it if I'm not home."

"Leah?"

"My housekeeper," grunted Emmett, looking embarrassed. "She comes a few times a week to make sure my place doesn't fall apart."

Bella snorted. She hadn't known her brother kept a maid, but from what she remembered as a little girl, she wasn't surprised.

"Well, I hope you pay her well," she snarked, piling the last of the cans onto a shelf. Emmett smiled.

"Well enough," he admitted. In truth, he paid Leah better than of any of his other household employees. The landscapers came and went before he could even get a chance to learn their names—the agency he used seemed to have quite the turnover rate. The same went for the kids who cleaned his pool—almost exclusively lanky teenage boys with acne and Bieber hair who kissed his ass and called him "Sir" whenever he poked in to see how they were doing. But Leah… she'd been the first person he'd ever hired, and she'd been coming by to clean that house for nearly ten years. Without her, Emmett was sure it would have been condemned.

Though she was only his paid worker, Emmett had grown rather fond of Leah and all her eccentricities.

"You'd like her, I think," said Emmett, resting his chin on his hand. "She keeps me in line."

Bella smiled.

"And she sorts my laundry," he added thoughtfully, making Bella snicker. "Remember when you went through the sorting laundry phase?"

"Yes," laughed Bella. It had been one of her stranger obsessions as a child—in second grade, the students had been divided into groups and were assigned a project on household chores. Bella's group had gotten "laundry". She remembered the time she had taken pasting paper pictures of washing machines, clothespins, dryers, and soap on bright orange Bristol board, and how her "research" (which consisted of interviewing her father and Mrs. Weber) had led to her discovery that the proper way to launder clothing involved _sorting._

For a full month, Bella had harassed and nagged her poor henpecked father until he sorted the laundry to her liking. She hadn't known until years later that Charlie, in an effort to save time and energy, had never truly washed any of the piles separately once Bella had found her way back upstairs.

She was surprised Emmett remembered.

"Is there laundry in this place?" asked Emmett, glancing around. Bella shook her head.

"No," she said. "Do you want a tour?"

"Sure," he grinned.

So Bella, with a burning mix of pride and embarrassment, showed her brother all four rooms of her little apartment. If he was shocked or repulsed by the smallness of it, or the meanness of her furniture and belongings, he didn't comment, and offered an admiring "nice" when she showed him the futon.

"And that's it," she shrugged, standing in the middle of the living room. "The laundromat is halfway between here and the supermarket. I passed it on my way in."

"If you ever want free laundry, you know where I live," he said, and though he grinned as he said it, Bella sensed he was serious.

"Maybe," she laughed. "It's a bit of a drive."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of drives," said Bella. "Do you still want a ride home?"

"If you're willing," he said. "I can catch a cab if you're busy unpacking."

"No," she yawned. "I'll drive."

"Tired?"

"A bit." She rubbed her eyes.

"It'll get easier," said Emmett, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's always weird, sleeping in a new place."

Bella grimaced.

"Come on," he said. His hand was still on her shoulder. "If we hurry we can avoid lunch hour traffic."

The first half of the drive to Emmett's house was silent and comfortable, as both seemed pleasantly accustomed to the quiet. Bella found that driving this new version of her truck was far easier than driving the old one, and she appreciated how smooth it felt on the road. She didn't dare ask about everything Emmett had fixed, as she knew she would be upset if she found out, but she vowed to find a way to thank him for his thoughtfulness.

How did you thank a man who already had everything in the world he could want?

Not to mention she was on a tight budget.

"Turn here," said Emmett gently, pointing left as Bella approached a strange intersection. The closer she got to her brother's house the more fancy the neighbourhoods seemed to be, and Bella could only be glad that her truck was a classic—it had some chance of fitting in on these streets filled with swanky Ferraris and Porches. When soft green lawns began to whiz by and she could see a cluster of green, leafy trees, Bella knew that she had found her brother's house.

"The code for the gate is 2-5-4-6-2," said Emmett. Bella had stopped beside the keypad, glancing at her brother for direction. She reached her hand through the window and pressed the code, relieved when the red sensor light turned green, and the gate swung open.

"Remember that number in case you ever need to get inside," said Emmett, turning to face her once the truck rolled to a stop outside his front door. Bella could only ogle—this was the first time she was really seeing his house.

"I will," she said, repeating the number in her mind. She knew she would never remember it… she would have to write it down someplace.

"I'll have a key made for you, too," he said, distracted as he stepped down from the truck. "I should have done it ages ago…"

"Oh, I don't…" began Bella quickly, shaking her head, but Emmett wouldn't hear it.

"Of course you do," he said. "If something ever happens—and I'm _not_ saying that it will…" He spoke quickly at the look of worry on her face.

"But if something _did,"_ he continued, "I want you to know you can come here. You're always welcome here, no matter what."

"Thanks Emmett," she said. She frowned at the way his face lit up at her words, unsure what exactly she had said to garner such a reaction.

"What?" she squeaked.

"You said my name," he said gently. "I don't think in the whole time you've been here you've said my name."

"Sure I have…" she protested, but fell short when she began to think. She'd said his name so often in her own head, or out loud to Rosalie, but every time she saw him it was only a simple "Hello", or "Hey you". Bella bit her lip.

"Sorry."

"Nah," he said quickly, coming round to her side of the vehicle. He rested his arms in the open window. "Don't be sorry. Like I said."

"Like you said," repeated Bella.

Emmett paused.

"Bell?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I give you a hug?" he asked. The hesitation, the _worry_ in his voice made her eyes and nose burn with tears. _Don't be stupid,_ she told herself. _Don't you go crying now…_

And to her surprise, she didn't.

"Yeah."

She slipped her seatbelt off and opened her door, prepared to step out and give him a proper embrace. But Emmett, looking as if he had been waiting too long for the pleasure, reached out and snatched her up before she could get her feet on the ground. She didn't stiffen, as she expected she would, and when her arms found their way around him, she found the safety and warmth he exuded to be comforting.

All of a sudden, she remembered exactly why she had thrown herself on him so frantically that first night. She was apt to forget when he wasn't around, but Emmett was, and had always been, _safe._

"I love you, Bella," he said. "I know you're still angry and I know you're confused, but I love you."

"I love you too," she said, and the words came easily to her. "I'm sorry for being a brat. I _do_ love you, even if..."

And for the first time in a long while, those words did not make her feel like a fraud.

* * *

She should have known her little happy bubble wouldn't last forever. Bella had never considered herself an optimist—she was too realistic for that—but the way things seemed to be going for her, she was well on her way to becoming a cynic.

Her happy first week in her apartment had swept by in a flurry of activity, both domestic and social. She had spent time with Rosalie, lounging on her new futon with a bottle of wine that Rose had brought with her. Bella had no wine glasses so the two women had poured it into dollar store tumblers, and both of them had had a good laugh over the whole thing. Bella had no television to offer her guest—no movies to keep them occupied or trashy reality shows to drunk-watch. But her self-conscious embarrassment (what kind of hostess was she?) had been quashed almost as soon as it had formed by the appearance of Alice and Jasper with a little black box. Alice had even tied a ribbon around it and attached a fancy little tag with Bella's name scrawled in artsy calligraphy.

Having been so socially isolated at home with her father, Bella had never heard of the game Alice had bought for her, but halfway through her glass of wine and with Jasper's raucous laughter in her ears, Bella had begun to think that _Cards Against Humanity_ was the rudest, funniest game she had ever played.

Even a week after its appearance in her house, it still held the place of honour on the end-table by the futon.

Now, as Bella sat hunched on Alice's black leather sofa in the office, it was all she could do to keep her cool. She could hear Alice's voice growing louder from the counter outside, could hear Jasper arguing over a number of loud and obnoxious voices, and Bella wondered if this would be the last straw in her employment here.

" _Bella can you get that for me?" asked Alice. Bella grinned at her boss—Alice was one of the tiniest people Bella had ever seen, and even though she was on the top step of the stool she was using, her arms were still a few inches too short to reach the cappuccino box on the highest shelf._

" _Sure thing, Alice," she said. "Look out."_

" _Don't laugh at me!" she said, tapping Bella on the shoulder as she climbed up. Bella had no problem reaching the box, pulling it down with a gloating smile._

" _I'm not short," she said, snatching the box away. "Jasper just says I'm fun-sized."_

 _Bella laughed as Jasper tipped an imaginary hat at the two of them from behind the counter, where a line-up of lunchtime patrons was starting to form. Bella shuddered when Alice, gave her husband a lewd wink and moved a little too slowly when she bent over to put the box under the counter. Jasper, not at all oblivious, laughed and shook his head, giving Bella a cheeky grin._

" _You two are gross," she complained, bumping Jasper away from the register with her hip. Jasper, of course, knew how to work the register, but as his day job took place in his police cruiser, and not in the café, he was slower than both of the girls._

" _Consider me gone," he said, kissing his wife on the cheek when Bella had dismissed him. "Missy B over there's got everything under control."_

" _Oh I know," said Alice. "We only let you help so you'll feel useful." Jasper laughed._

" _Speaking of being useful," he said, kissing Alice on the nose. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to step out."_

" _You haven't done the bathrooms yet!" said Alice. "You lost the bet, you know…"_

" _I know," said Jasper, with a valiant attempt to look sorry. "I really do, but duty calls."_

" _What duty?" asked Alice, a frown crossing her face. "Don't tell me that he's sick_ again…"

" _He's sick again," said Jasper, looking slightly anxious._

" _He's not sick," grumbled Alice, opening a bag of coffee with her paring knife. "He's just_ lazy…"

" _Well, either way, the Chief asked me to cover and I can't very well say no…"_

" _You can sometimes," said Alice, but her voice had grown soft again. Bella felt guilty for eavesdropping—she was good enough at her job that she could listen_ and _work—but she couldn't help the smile._

 _Her father had been the same way._

" _Be safe," said Alice. "And take a coffee before you leave."_

" _No time darlin'," said Jasper. "I'm headed out in five."_

" _Well, be safe then," she reiterated. "Come home in one piece."_

" _I always do."_

" _You've got things here, Bella?" asked Alice, turning around once Jasper had disappeared into the back. "I'm going to make him a sandwich for his shift, if you've got it handled…"_

" _Definitely," said Bella, adding creamer to the coffee she was making. "Go on ahead."_

" _Wonderful." She squeezed Bella's hand as she walked by. "You're a lifesaver."_

 _Bella blushed._

" _What can I get you, sir?" she asked, speaking to the next customer in line. Bella had come to learn that much of coffee-shop work involved memorization. There were customers that she saw regularly each day, whose orders and names she had memorized. She knew that Celia from the bookshop across the way drank raspberry tea with two sugars, and that if Bella would let her, she would talk her ear off for a good half hour. She knew that John from one of the offices up the street took two creamers in his coffee, but if his wife was with him, he switched to milk. She knew that Rob took an ungodly amount of sugar, and that Nancy always ordered an extra-large black dark roast. She knew how to make Janet's sandwich, and knew that Russ would complain if his bagel hadn't been toasted_ just _right…_

 _But this man, Bella noted, was a stranger to her. She was sure she had never seen him before, and while that was not unusual (Alice's café brought in all kinds of new customers all the time), the way he was staring at her was._

" _Yes, hello," he said. The hairs on Bella's neck stood up._

" _Can I get you something to drink? We have a fresh pot of dark-roast…"_

" _I'm not interested in coffee." He had eyes like a frog—large and pouchy, but somehow bulging. His tie was crooked._

" _I'm sorry?" she said, glancing around for Tyler. He was there, at the other end of the shop, but he paid her no mind as he rushed to and fro, making all kinds of specialty drinks for the customers waiting at the end of the counter._

" _My name is Alec," he said. "I'm from the National Enquirer."_

 _Bella stared._

" _Oh come now, Miss Swan," he said, loudly enough for the women behind him to hear. "Don't pretend like we don't know who you are."_

 _Bella felt a cold wash of fear flood through her. Had James sent this man? Did he know where to find her? Was he close by, just waiting to strike when she wasn't looking…?_

" _I…"_

"You," _said the man in an obnoxiously loud voice, "are Emmett Swan's sister, are you not? The one who was missing? Your face was_ allover _the news…"_

 _Bella could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she stared at this man, gaping like a fish, while he leered down at her._

" _Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" he asked. "Your brother missed the funeral. Where was he? Is it true your father used to hit him?"_

" _No!" said Bella, scrambling to collect her thoughts. The idea of this man—this stranger!—coming in and accusing her father of… of such…_

" _So Emmett simply walked out?" asked the man, his pen flying. Bella could hear the other patrons whispering now. She glanced around, hoping for_ anyone _to come and help her out, but all she saw was a teenage girl, no doubt a fan of her brother's, leaning over the pastry display to stare._

" _Emmett!" the girl hissed to her friend. "He said Emmett! And he's right! Look at her… she was on the cover of_ In Touch!"

" _Miss Alice?" Tyler's voice was the one that rang out, and Bella was glad to see him abandoning his post to come to her side. "Sir? Can we get you something to drink?"_

" _No, no," said the man, Alec, with a leering smile. "I just want to have a_ little _chat with Missy here about her brother, and then I'll be…"_

" _Excuse me, what's all this?" Alice might be a tiny person, but she looked like an angry tigress as she stared down the unwanted guest._

" _Alec Smithson," said the man, holding out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. Might I have a moment with your worker here?"_

" _Alice, I…"_

" _Shush Bella," said Alice, holding out a hand for silence. "Go in the back."_

" _Alice…"_

"Now _, Bella," she said, and Bella felt her face flame. This was it. She would lose her job. She would lose her apartment. She would be homeless again. James would…_

 _It was only once she had made it to the couch and saw herself in the mirror behind the desk that she saw how white her face had gone, or how badly her hands were shaking…_

"Bella?" Alice's voice was soft and gentle as she approached, and Bella was still shaking. Alice looked worried and when she sat next to Bella, her arms were outstretched as if she would pull her in for a hug.

Bella did not respond, so Alice settled for resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Jasper is getting him to leave," she said gently. "I'm sorry he accosted you."

Bella started.

"I didn't mean for him to cause a scene," she said. She could still hear the man, even as Jasper escorted him out, hollering all kinds of question for her.

"Don't worry about it," said Alice. "It was only a matter of time, really…"

"I didn't think they'd know me," said Bella. This much, at least, was true.

"He wasn't wrong when he said your face was everywhere. I'm not surprised no one else has figured it out yet."

Bella let out a shaky sigh.

"Well," said Alice quietly, tapping her fingernails on the desk. "We're going to have to figure something out for you while this settles down."

Bella braced herself for the incoming flood.

"I guess we've got no choice," said Alice, her brow furrowed.

"I understand," said Bella. _Do not cry._ She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"I'll train you on the books," said Alice gently, pulling Bella close when she sensed the impeding tears. "I know it's not what you were hired for, but…"

Bella's head snapped up.

"You're not firing me?"

"Firing you?" asked Alice, startled. "God no. Why would I fire you?"

"Well…" spluttered Bella. "I…"

"Listen," said Alice. "That asshole isn't your fault. You didn't ask him here. _He_ accosted _you_ , not the other way around. No way am I firing you for something you didn't even do."

"But…"

"But what?" asked Alice. "Goodness, Bella, I know you're scared I'm going to let you go, but honestly. You're a good worker."

"I'm average," protested Bella, earning her a little laugh.

"No, you're _awesome_ ," said Alice. "You go above and beyond, you're a quick learner, you're eager and excited to come in every day…"

Bella shook her head.

"I wish you wouldn't worry so much," sighed Alice. "Your _job_ is safe, if nothing else…"

Bella breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll start your training tomorrow. Jasper is off, and he can take over the register."

"I hate to cause trouble," said Bella. "You don't need to make accommodations…"

"The crowds are still flocking," said Alice gently. "It's good for business, so I'm not complaining about the number of them, but they're all looking for you. God knows what they want, but I'm not about to let you find out."

"Thanks, Alice," said Bella, releasing a shaky sigh. "For everything."

"I'll always help, when I can," said Alice. "And besides. Maybe learning the ins and outs of business will be helpful to you someday."

"Yeah, maybe," laughed Bella. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Go home for the rest of the day," said Alice gently. "We'll pay you for the full day, but there's not much else you can do for now. I can't very well throw you to the wolves—they'd eat you alive. Your truck is out back, right?"

"Yeah."

"Go, then," said Alice, squeezing Bella's hand. "Maybe go to Rosalie's. She's missed you."

"Yeah, I will," said Bella, knowing very well that there was no way she could go and sit alone in her apartment just now. "Thanks Alice."

"Don't worry about it. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

When Bella slipped out the back door, her hair down from its ponytail and her apron bunched in her fist, she managed to slip in to her truck without anyone noticing her. When she pulled out of the back alley and onto the main road, she could only groan when she saw the masses of people pressing their way inside.

Bella was starting to wonder if she was more trouble than she was worth.

Driving took a long time, as lunch-hour traffic always caused some delays. Bella's lips were chapped and she could taste the salt of tears when she licked them, but she did not dare pull over to find a tissue. She had been noticed—and not just recognized, but accosted. She knew all of those people weren't trying to hurt her—they didn't want to make her uncomfortable or upset. She knew Emmett was the one they really wanted—Bella had yet to go out in public with him, but she was sure that when she did, she would find the crowds much worse than this. But still… Bella had not been prepared, nor had she been expecting her sudden and violent shove into the spotlight.

When she reached Rosalie's townhouse, all white and prim and orderly, it was all she could do to pull her truck in behind the red Beemer and step outside. Bella half suspected that some deranged and overeager person would spring up from the Rose's bed of petunias, or perhaps dangle from the large coconut tree on the curb by the road.

She knocked frantically, ringing the doorbell for good measure, unable to stop the springing tears when no one answered.

"Come on…" said Bella, glancing anxiously from side to side, as if Rosalie's neighbours would suddenly start springing up from the hedges to stare, and pry, and launch questions at her…

"Hang on. There's someone at my door." Bella heard Rose's muffled voice behind the wood of the door and she let out a sigh of relief, wiping her face on her black work shirt as the sound of the deadbolt made her jump.

Rose looked annoyed when she first opened the door, but when she laid eyes on Bella, all red-eyed and skittish, her annoyance melded into worry.

"What happened?" she demanded, taking Bella by the arm and pulling her inside. As if she suspected some assailant had followed her, Rose looked suspiciously up and down her sleepy street before she closed the door with a _click,_ and slid the lock into place.

"People know who I am," she said pitifully, biting her lip as she fought against her anxiety. "They came into the shop, and Alice told me I should come here…"

"Hey, yeah," said Rose, her phone back up against her ear. "Listen, I've got to go."

The voice on the other end, a man's by the sound of things, replied in kind.

"Yeah. No." Rose shook her head. "She's fine. I think."

Bella glanced up.

"I'll talk to you later. Yeah. Friday."

Rose hung up on her caller, tossing the cell phone on the little bench by the doorway. She drew Bella in for a hug and Bella kicked off her shoes, mindful of the tidy floors.

"Come in and tell me what happened," said Rose. "I've got the kettle on."

Bella didn't notice the way Rose's eyes flitted to the cell phone, the screen listing all her recent calls, or how her brother's was the only name on the list.

 **A/N: An extra long chapter. I hope you like it... we're making slow and steady progress.**

 **For those of you worried that things have slowed down for good, never fear. I've got my outline all planned out, and there is plenty of excitement yet to come.**

 **Reviews have been scarce lately. Let me know what you think!**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Sitting on her beat up futon with a pile of envelopes on the table before her, Bella could only just fight off the sickeningly familiar feeling of anxiety. It had been over three weeks since she had moved in to her new apartment and up until she had gone to check the mail that morning, everything had seemed to be going well. Despite her worries, Bella found that she quite enjoyed the repetitive, finicky work she did for Alice in the backroom—balancing budgets, check books, working through the payroll, and making sure all of the money went where it should. Alice had told her that jobs such as these were usually performed by accountants, but as a little start-up business in an expensive and demanding city, Alice had been forced to learn the skills herself.

Much to both Bella and Alice's surprise, Alice only had to show Bella how to do the job once before she caught on and was able to work on her own. The small raise she had given Bella for her new skills didn't hurt either, and Bella found that she was beginning to enjoy the company of the new high school girl who had taken her place at the cash register. She seemed like a nice girl, though Bella didn't talk to her much, and the store had settled down quite a bit since Bella had disappeared from the front counter.

But today—her first day off in almost a week—was not going at all how she had planned. She had woken that morning with a strange excitement that she wasn't used to—a kind of exuberant, anticipatory joy that felt so foreign it almost frightened her. Bella did not like having time to herself. When she had time off, she had time to think, and when she had time to think, she often grew sad. This time, however, she had found herself looking forward to her day. It was a Monday, which meant that she could run some errands, and she had been meaning to go down to the waterfront to see if she couldn't get some sun on her pasty, pale skin.

But that had all fallen to the wayside when she had maneuvered herself, still in her pajamas, to the bottom floor of her building where the mailboxes were. Using the old rusted key, she wiggled her way into her box and was surprised to see a stack of envelopes, all with her name and new address. She hadn't thought anything of it until she brought the pile back upstairs and began to rifle through. The first one she opened was from the electricity company, letting her know that she owed them for one month's usage on top of an exorbitant set up fee.

Similar letters came from the water people, the heating people (even though Bella had never used the heater in her apartment), and the landlord, who would be wanting payment for next month's rent this coming Thursday.

So, as she had in the early days of her father's illness, Bella broke out the old, faulty calculator from a cardboard box she had yet to unpack, and on a scrap of paper from an old notebook, began to calculate just how much money it was going to take to keep her comfortable in her new home. Just like before, as she pressed button after button, the math would not add up and defeat settled like a rock in her stomach. She could feel it there, hard and heavy, relentless in its path through her body. Before long she felt it in her throat—a tight, hard ball that warned of tears—and behind her eyes, forcing her to blink the moisture away.

There never seemed to be enough.

"Shit," she said, speaking into the empty air as she eyed the $2.11 next to the nearly illegible "Food" column she had scrawled on the paper. As if in response to an unvoiced question, Bella noticed the small stack of books sitting on the end table next to the small chair in the corner.

She could see the sign for the pawn shop from her window.

* * *

An hour later, with a flimsy Safeway bag clutched in her fist, Bella stalked dejectedly back to the nondescript apartment building, an unfamiliar, growling guilt settled firmly in her heart. Before today, she hadn't believed herself to be a sentimental person, but the sadness that had overtaken her as she sold a stack of her novels—five in total—for four dollars apiece had nearly driven her over the edge. They had been classic novels, all well loved and even better-read, and while she knew she could find identical copies at a bookstore once she had some extra cash, there was something about giving them away that made her want to cry.

But they were only books, after all.

Still, Bella could not help but feel a wholly irrational rush of resentment towards the bag of rice, beans, milk, and apples she had grabbed at the supermarket. She had to eat—she knew she could not get away with having no food—but something about having to sell her most prized possessions made her bitter. Those books, after all, had been with her since high school. She had always been an awkward and lonesome teenager—no one but Angela had ever really bothered with her—and those books had felt like some of her dearest and closest friends.

Angry with herself, Bella wiped at her eyes with rough and jerky hands. She would _not_ go crying over something as silly and inconsequential as five missing books.

She had lost her whole house, for crying out loud, and she hadn't been a blubbering mess then.

"Stop it," she murmured, biting her lip to keep herself in check. The old lady loitering outside her building stared. "Don't you dare cry…"

She did not talk to the neighbour on her way in, though the lady's eyes followed Bella suspiciously the whole way up the first flight of stairs. She passed by the weird college kid who lived beneath her on the second floor—he always reeked of marijuana—and she didn't even bother with her usual friendly wave for old Mr. Patrick who lived in the place next door. Instead, she moved with her head ducked and her hair shielding her face, escaping into the bowels of her apartment before anyone could notice her foul mood. She opened the fridge and threw the entire bag of food inside, not bothering to unpack it before she went to the silent living her room, tossing herself on her futon.

As she had in Seattle, she shoved the remaining pile of unopened envelopes under her small coffee table. She knew she would have to open them—she could hardly get on by herself without knowing what she had to do—but for now, she decided, she would rest in anxious ignorance.

When her stomach growled, she did not open her refrigerator.

* * *

"You've got mail, Bella."

Alice's voice, always so exuberant and loud, was quiet as she peeked through the office door. Bella was typing away on the spreadsheet program on Alice's laptop—a skill she had mastered just that week—and she started when the other woman came in. Alice sniggered as she always did when she managed to scare her timid, skittish employee, but Bella paid her no mind.

"Set it there," she sighed, pointing to another stack on the desk next to her. "I'll grab it as soon as I'm finished this row."

"No, not work mail," said Alice. "This is addressed to _you."_

The words took a moment to sink in. When she finally processed what Alice was telling her, she looked up with such a startled frown that Alice hesitated. Bella saw the familiar logo on the papers in her hand, and her face blanched.

"Easy there," laughed Alice. She tossed the envelopes down on Bella's keyboard—the Bank of America logo seemed to taunt her.

"Where did those come from?" she asked, refusing to touch them. "They don't have my new address…"

"They've got your workplace, evidently," said Alice with a shrug. "I mean, when you set up your direct deposit…"

"Right…" Bella cleared her throat. "I'm sorry it came here…"

"No, no," said Alice. "It's not like it's fan mail, after all."

Bella growled, unable to help the grimace that crossed her face. Just last week, Alice had been inundated with a pile of handwritten, stamped envelopes bearing Bella's name from people who had either seen her up at the counter or learned that she was working there. Before Bella had figured out exactly what they were or who they were from, she had tentatively peeked inside and discovered a plaintive and desperate missive demanding that she write back with her brother's personal phone number.

Bella had thrown the rest in the trash.

"I figured you'd want these ones," said Alice. "They look official."

"They look like bills," said Bella. She had known this day would come—she could not run from her bank forever—but she had at least hoped that she would have some time to get herself established before the bill collectors came chasing. She was loathe to look in those envelopes—how much would she owe now that she had defaulted for so many months? How much had the house paid off? Bella knew that they would not count its retail price—that would be ridiculous—but she wondered if maybe, just _maybe_ , a sizeable chunk had been chipped away…

"Well, you won't know until you open them," said Alice.

"Yeah."

"Why don't you take your coffee break and check them out?" she asked. "Then, if you have to, you can run down the street on your lunch to sort it out?"

"I suppose…"

"Avoiding it won't help." Alice's voice was gentle now, but Bella could not mistake the undertone of chastisement. "You're a smart girl. I'm sure you know that."

Bella thought guiltily of the unopened bills still in a pile on her living room floor.

"I know."

"It sucks, but do it like a Band-Aid. One good tug and get it over with."

Bella frowned. Sometimes, when she was alone with Alice, she could almost forget that this woman was over ten years her senior; she was so bubbly and small that Bella wouldn't be surprised if people mistook her for a college kid. But when she got stern, which she rarely did, Bella was always sharply reminded of Alice's age, and more importantly, her experience.

Alice, though she was giddy and chipper, was by no means stupid.

"Yeah, I suppose," she sighed. She knew Alice was not wrong, and when the older woman sat herself down on top of some papers on the desk, Bella could not help but meet her gaze.

"Don't worry so much," she said. "It can't be that bad, right?"

Bella grimaced.

"Nothing's undoable," she said. "And no matter what, you've got people behind you now. You won't have to run like last time."

Bella flushed. She had managed to tell Alice most of the story surrounding her departure from Seattle and hectic arrival in Los Angeles, minus the shadier details of James' exploits that she hadn't even managed to tell Jasper when he'd interviewed her. She had told Alice all about her father's illness and medical bills, and about the loan she'd discovered and the aggressive, pushy lady who had come to repossess the house. Alice knew about old Mr. Ferguson, and about how she had lived in on the streets, and how her entire life had been packed up in boxes in the back of an old pickup truck.

Bella confided a lot in Alice, but she hadn't had the heart to tell her about the books and the pawnshop. Bella could not help the feeling that Alice was too nice to her—she had even offered to help out with finances while Bella got settled. Of course, Bella could never accept that kind of charity from someone she barely knew, but if she told Alice how she had earned her grocery money that week, she knew Alice would be upset.

And Bella did not want to be the cause of Alice's unhappiness.

"I guess I should just do it then," she said, sweeping the envelopes away from the keyboard so she could close the lid of the laptop. The pile of envelopes wasn't thick—only three in total—but they felt as heavy as lead in her hands.

"Do you want me to leave?" asked Alice.

"Doesn't matter," sighed Bella. "It's your office."

"It's more yours than mine now," she laughed. "I'm thinking about getting a replacement for this." She tapped the black and copper nameplate that sat on the far edge.

"Don't you dare," laughed Bella. "You'll be back in here soon, and I'll be back out _there..._ "

"Maybe, maybe not," said Alice. "But never mind that. Open them up and see what they say."

Bella slid her finger under the flap of the first one, giving it a sharp tug to tear the paper. She could see the figures all laid out even while the paper was still folded, and the swooping nerves in her stomach made her wonder if she would be sick.

But when she unfolded the pages, glancing over the statement, she found herself growing confused.

"What is it?" asked Alice. "We'll work it out, whatever it is…"

"No," Bella shook her head. "It's…"

She had looked at copies of these statements for over a year now—her father's medical bills that had only ever grown since he had fallen ill the summer before. Bringing the paper closer to her nose, she scanned down the list, watching as the total grew and grew, the interest going higher and higher…

But then, right at the very bottom, there was a new transaction dated three weeks prior.

And the total at the bottom read zero.

"It's been paid," said Alice, glancing carefully over Bella's shoulder. The total had been well into the hundreds of thousands—Bella had been certain she would be paying it off until the day of her own funeral.

"I didn't," said Bella. She was baffled—she barely had a penny to her name, let alone an expendable fortune large enough to tackle that kind of debt…

"No, you don't," said Alice, though she sounded pleased.

Bella tore open the second one.

And then the third.

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head as she looked at the totals on all three bills—the bank loan, the medical expenses, and a personal line of credit her father had been using as income while he was off work.

"I think I do," said Alice. "I only know one person who has that kind of cash."

"Emmett," said Bella, her voice cracking as her lips went dry.

"Yeah," said Alice. "I'm surprised he didn't give you a heads up."

"I never asked him to," said Bella quickly, shaking her head. "He didn't have to…"

"I think he did," said Alice. "Your brother is your father's son just as much as you're his daughter. The onus doesn't fall completely on you for all that debt…"

"But…"

"Take it, Bella," said Alice. "It's one less worry for you. And think—now you'll be able to move on with other things. All you've got to worry about now is your rent and groceries."

Bella bit her lip.

"I have to call him," she said finally, shaking her head. The papers did not seem real—she wondered if she would ever really be able to wrap her head around it.

"I think you should," said Alice. "He deserves that, at least…"

"Yeah."

"I'll leave you for a while then," said Alice. "Feel free to use the desk phone. I won't tell if you don't." Bella couldn't help the smile that crept up on her when Alice winked.

"Well, as long as you don't tell…" she teased. "Thanks, Alice."

"No worries. Take as much time as you need."

When the door to the office closed, Bella stared at the silent telephone. Her brother's phone number—the one that led to his personal cell—was only just becoming memorable for her, and it only took her a moment to conjure up the digits in her head.

Her fingers felt clumsy as she pressed the buttons. Her face was hot though her hands were cold, and she could not help jiggling her foot as she held the receiver to her ear, listening to the ring.

She had never called her brother before.

"Swan speaking," came the voice, gruff and slightly aggressive. Bella swallowed hard, wishing her mouth were not so dry, and cleared her throat.

"Hello?" said Emmett. "Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

She heard the surprised sigh.

"Bella?"

"Yeah."

"What's wrong?" he asked. Bella cringed at the worry in his voice. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "I'm actually at work."

"Oh…"

"Yeah."

There was a long, awkward silence. Bella clamped her eyes shut, wishing she could get herself together.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry," she said. "I just…"

He waited.

"I got some mail today."

"Oh…" Bella couldn't help her smile at the sound of his forced cheer. "That's cool, I guess..."

"Yeah. From the bank."

"Ah." It was his turn to sound nervous.

"When did you do it?"

"A few weeks ago," he said. "When I brought you the truck."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't," he said. Bella couldn't help but smile—he sounded so relieved—and she had a sudden realization that he might think she would shout at him. She supposed he had only ever seen explosive reactions when he offered her money…

"You didn't?"

"No," he said. "I knew the bank dad used, so I went in and spoke with them. I explained what I suspected about the medical bills and they confirmed it, and then they told me about the loan and line of credit. Because I was paying the bills and not trying to withdraw anything…"

"There wasn't an issue," she finished. "I, uh…"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," she said, her cheeks flaming red. She didn't think the word was good enough. "I mean, I figured I'd be paying that for the rest of my life."

"Jesus, Bella," he said, and this time he was sad. "If I had known, there would never have been any debt in the first place. I can only imagine…"

Bella sniffed.

"It's not like I rushed to tell you," said Bella quietly. "I mean, you've been back around for weeks, and I didn't…"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"But thanks," she said again. "It means a lot."

"You don't have to thank me."

"You spent almost—"

"I know what I spent," said Emmett, "and don't you dare finish that with 'you spent that money on me' because not one single red cent went to _you_. Now, if you'd let me, I could..."

"I'm alright," she sighed. The lie was bitter on her tongue. "I don't need money."

"So you say," replied Emmett. "But no matter what, dad's debt should have been left to me."

"It was in my name," she finished lamely. "Dad transferred it all to me…"

"I know," he said. "But you're just a kid…"

"I'm not a child," she protested.

"I didn't say you were underage," he replied. "I said you're a _kid_. You don't have that kind of money, and with a debt like that following you around, you'd never be able to have any kind of life."

Bella sniffed.

"That should never have been put on you," he continued. "No matter how mad or bitter he was, he knew I would have helped with that part."

"Well, thanks," she said lamely. "I really appreciate it."

"Will you do something for me in return?" he asked suddenly, and she stalled.

"Like what?"

"Come over tonight," he said. "Whenever you're done work."

"I'm done at seven…" she said. "I don't want to put you out."

"Oh stop it," he said. "You'd never put me out. Come on by for dinner. I'd really like to talk things over with you."

"What things?"

"Anything," he said. "Literally, _anything_ …"

She did not like the desperation in his voice.

"Alright."

"Yeah?" he asked. "For real?"

"If you really want me to," she said. This man was her brother after all—her only living relative—and he had just given away a good chunk of money to make her life easier.

Dinner was the least she could do.

"Of course I do," he said. "I'll ask Leah to make us something. What do you like? I've got BBQ, or chicken, or…"

"Whatever you want," laughed Bella. "Really. I'm not fussy."

She had been living off of rice, apples, and milk for almost two weeks—any change was welcome change.

"Awesome," he said. "You need a ride, or are you cool to drive?"

"I can drive," she said. "I know where I'm going."

"Great," he said. "Really great. Around eight, then?"

"Sure."

"Perfect." She could almost hear his smile. "I'll see you tonight then."

"Sure."

"I love you," he said, "and thank you for trying."

His words made her eyes sting.

"I love you too," she said. "See you later."

"Bye, Bell."

"Bye."

She wiped her eyes just in time for Alice to walk in. She had evidently been listening to the muffled voices at the door, and she paused when she saw Bella's bright eyes.

"Everything went well, I hope? I promise I wasn't listening in. I was just waiting until I heard the talking stop…"

"It's all good," said Bella, smiling. "We're all good."

"Great," said Alice. "I'm really glad."

"He invited me for dinner."

"Oh?" Alice's eyebrows raised.

"I'm going after work," she explained. "He said eight."

"That's wonderful," said Alice. "Rose will be happy to hear it."

"Rose?" asked Bella. "Why?"

At any other moment in time, the sudden look of worry on Alice's face would have made Bella suspicious. The way her already wide eyes grew even bigger or how she pursed her lips as if in forced silence were both signs, though Bella, in her distracted, flustered mind, did not pick up on them.

"Oh, you know she worries about you. And she wants to see families happy…" Alice rambled. "Plus, she just _loves_ you."

"Oh."

"Do you need to leave early?" asked Alice, changing the subject. "Did you need to go home first and get ready?"

"No," said Bella. "No thanks. I've got a change of clothes in my backpack."

Bella always liked to carry extras. She was allowed to wear street clothes in the office, but she preferred the black uniform. Sometimes, when they were swamped, Alice would ask her to take over the basic coffee-making to ease Tyler's workload, and Bella hated to spill.

"Let me know if you do," said Alice, pointing her finger at Bella. "I don't mind, and you know it…"

"Thanks."

"No problem.

When Alice left the room, Bella could not help the butterflies that exploded in her stomach.

* * *

"I, uh, don't remember the code," she said awkwardly, talking into the speaker through her open window. "I know you told me, but…"

"Never mind," laughed Emmett, his voice tinny and echoing. "I'll buzz you through. You can pull right up to the door, if you want…"

"Thanks."

"No worries."

There was a quiet _click_ from the front of the truck, and Bella saw the gate swing open.

"I'll be up in a minute," she said. "See you soon."

"Come right in," said Emmett. "Don't bother knocking."

When she drove through the gate, she was once again amazed by the size and grandeur of her brother's house. She had to admit that even his yard was pretty—the sun was still up and as she took the time to pay attention, she could see the sprawling grass rolling down a hill on the far side of the house. Bella did not know how many vehicles her brother owned but by the size of the garage she knew it was more than one, and there were flowers and shrubs all around that Bella knew her brother had no part in growing. Emmett, in his brave attempts to nurture, had killed a number of cactus plants in their youth and Bella was absolutely sure that the years had not transformed him into a green thumb.

Bella pulled her truck as close to the front doors as she could manage, killing the engine just in time to hear the second _click_ of the gate as it swung shut. The truck was much quieter than it used to be—she supposed Emmett had fixed that when he had taken it to the garage—and the low rumble would not be audible from inside the house.

Still, when she looked up at the massive front-facing window, she could see her brother's white face poking out from behind the curtain. She moved to the front door, remembering the last time she had been inside the house, and tentatively turned the handle to take a quiet step inside.

"Hello?"

"Hey," said Emmett, appearing in the doorway of the living room. "Come on in. I'm glad you came."

"Yeah," said Bella, slipping her feet out of her worn sneakers. "Thanks for the invite."

"Anytime," said Emmett. "Come on in. Sit down. Leah's agreed to make us dinner, and it'll be about half an hour."

"Okay."

Bella could tell her brother was nervous—she did not know him as well as she used to, but she was still very much aware of the tells he'd had when they were children. Bella remembered how he would bite his lip hard enough to draw blood when he was apprehensive, or how he would refuse to sit still if he thought he was being watched.

As he shuffled around the living room, ushering her into an armchair, she saw the lip between his teeth and the anxious, fluttery fidgeting of his hands.

"I'm fine, really," she said, accepting the glass of water he procured for her. "Don't be so nervous."

"Yeah, well…" said Emmett, standing awkwardly in the center of the room. "We don't exactly have the best track record with talking, and especially not about…"

"Money. Yeah." Bella's face was on fire. "But sit or something. You're making me nervous."

It was probably the most honest thing she'd said all day.

"So…" began Emmett, jumping when the sound of a mixer sounded from the kitchen. "Are you upset?"

"No," said Bella quickly, shaking her head. "No, I'm not upset…"

"But?"

"But I'm shocked," she said quietly. "I figured they were more bills."

"Mhm."

"I wasn't sure how they knew where I was."

"Work," said Emmett. "That's what I figure, anyways…"

"That's what Alice said."

"Are you going to hog that girl or are you going to introduce me?" The woman's voice, unexpectedly low and gruff, made both Emmett and Bella start. Emmett grinned sheepishly as he met the gaze of the newcomer who was standing in the entranceway with a hand on her hip and a saucy eyebrow cocked inquiringly.

"Of course, how rude of me," said Emmett. "Leah, this is…"

"I know who she is, the poor baby," said Leah, cutting Emmett off and bustling into the room. Bella met her brother's gaze with alarm, unsure of the large, noisy woman making her way quite quickly towards the sofa, but Emmett only shrugged, sitting back in his seat.

"Bell, this is Leah. She cleans for me, and sometimes, if I'm nice, she makes me dinner."

"I'm not even thinking about _you_ tonight," dismissed Leah. "All I could think about was what kind of meal this little girl would get if I went home and let you fend for yourself."

Though Bella hated being called a child—she had not been one for several years—somehow, hearing the words in Leah's mouth did not make her bristle. Just before Leah could stoop to reach her, Bella stood, offering a hand to shake. Leah ignored it and leaned forward, grabbing her into a tight, squeezing hug.

"It's good to meet you, baby," said Leah. "This one was all in a tizzy when he couldn't find you. And then I wondered if we'd ever get you back…"

"What's this 'we'?" crowed Emmett. "You didn't even know her…"

"You keep quiet," snapped Leah. "I'm not talking to you."

Bella laughed at the affront on her brother's face.

"Thanks," she said. "It's good to meet you too."

"You're skinny," said Leah.

Bella squirmed.

"She's always been skinny," said Emmett. "A twig, dad used to say…"

"Yes, well…" Leah looked her over. "We'll fix that. Do you like chicken? I've got some in the oven for you and I suppose," she let out a long, suffering sigh, "that we can share some with _this_ one." She jabbed her thumb at Emmett.

"Chicken sounds great," said Bella. "Thanks for cooking."

"Anytime, dear," said Leah. "If there's anything you want me to make you, you just let this buffoon know and I'll make sure you get it. He won't deny you…"

Emmett laughed.

"I'll let you get on," said Leah, ignoring Emmett's chuckles. "You let me know if you need anything."

"I will."

"And don't worry. I'll make sure _he_ minds his table manners."

Bella could only laugh. When Leah bustled back into the kitchen she was silent for a long moment, unable to help her grin.

"She's nice."

" _Nice_ isn't exactly the word I'd use," laughed Emmett, "but she's a good woman. She's been with me almost ten years."

"Poor lady."

"Yeah, poor Leah," he teased. "Do you know she almost never cooks for me? It's only because you're here that she even agreed."

"What do you eat, then?"

"I _do_ know how to cook _some_ things," laughed Emmett. "I'm not _completely_ useless…"

"You used to be," retorted Bella. "You almost failed that family studies class. In both years."

"But I _didn't_ ," he smirked. The mischief lingered in his eyes for a few moments before the giddiness melted away. The way he looked at her now was not unhappy, but Bella could sense some deep, lingering questions in the way he watched her. When he spoke, it was not with the familiar, laughing chortle, but rather with the gentle, serious voice he'd used many times over the telephone.

"For real, Bell. She's been wanting to meet you ever since she found out about you."

Bella bit her lip.

"How long _has_ she known about me?"

Emmett shrugged.

"Since I tried to find you, I guess…"

There was a long pause. Bella did not know why, but it seemed like the calmer she was around Emmett, the more awkward their encounters grew. When he had first come back into her life, especially that first night when she'd been so hurt and confused, things had come so naturally to the both of them. Emmett had not been hesitant with her, had not tip-toed around as if he were afraid or uncertain. Now, it seemed that neither one of them knew exactly what to do with the other—where she had once been angry, she was now growing soft, and where he was once desperate, he was now growing calm. Instead of the bitterness and rejection she had been fighting so hard against, Bella was beginning to feel gentle nudges of forgiveness, and where Emmett had spent so long looking for what he had lost, he seemed to be struggling with what to do now that he had found it.

In that long, uncomfortable silence that seemed to take an age, Bella felt a strong and unexpected yearning for the youth she had left behind. The nostalgia hit her so hard that she had to swallow against the sudden lump in her throat—the one that always warned of tears—and force herself to keep her eyes downcast on the plush, white rug. She knew if she looked up and saw him watching her that she would not be able to keep herself under control, no matter how silly she might look, and she did not want her brother to see her weakness anymore than he already had.

Bella could not be sure that her memories were clear—time had a way of rearranging them, after all—but as she sat in the silence of her brother's living room, she could not help but remember the days she had left behind. She remembered the easy chemistry she had always felt with him, no matter how much older or wiser he had appeared to her. She remembered the way he would hold her hand, or how he would sneak into her bedroom when she was just a little girl, barely out of diapers, to snuggle when she would cry. She remembered the way he would leave her treats and snacks in the tallest kitchen cabinet, or how he had taught her to read before she had even set foot in a classroom. She remembered, with only the shadow of a smile, how he had taken the blame when Bella had knocked a whole rack full of wet dishes onto the floor when she had thrown his football in the house, or how he had defended her fledgling honour when a boy in his class had called her an ugly name.

She remembered playtime and toys, games and snuggles—all memories from a time when the world was golden.

"Bell?"

"Yeah?"

"What's got you so serious?"

Bella's head snapped up.

"Just thinking," she said. The threat of tears had abated, for which she was grateful, but the sudden intensity of her brother's blue eyes was hard to match. He was watching her, carefully silent as he waited for elaboration, but when she gave none he opened his mouth instead.

"I love you."

Bella bit her lip.

"Love you too."

"I feel like I don't say it enough," he said, shifting. "Sometimes, I wish you knew how much this means to me."

"What what means?"

"This," he said again, gesturing to the empty air around them. "Just the fact that you're here."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh,"_ he said, his lips twitching.

Bella sighed.

"Are you okay being here?" he asked quietly. "I know it was kind of shitty of me to ask you to come as a favour, but I wasn't sure you'd agree otherwise."

Bella shook her head, knowing he was right.

"I'm fine being here," she said honestly. "It doesn't bother me."

"You look sad."

 _I am sad,_ she thought, though those words remained unheard. _I'm always sad._

"I'm fine."

"Bell?"

When she glanced up, meeting his gaze again, she saw a different expression on his face—worry.

"Can we talk?"

"Dinner's done, if you two want to head on in," said Leah, poking her head into the room. Both of them jumped. "It's all laid out on the table, and I'll be heading out if you don't need anything else."

"No, go on ahead," said Emmett, springing up from his seat at the sound of her voice. "Thanks again, Leah. I really appreciate it."

"Thank you," said Bella, smiling when Leah beamed.

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," she said, pulling Bella to her for another hug as she walked by. "I'll see you again, I'm sure…"

"I'm sure," said Bella. "Thanks for everything."

"See you next week, Leah," laughed Emmett. "Come and eat, Bell."

"That boy has missed you," said Leah gently, her voice too low for Emmett to hear as he entered the kitchen. "Don't ever let him know it, but I'm very glad you've come. You make him very happy."

Bella was sure her face would catch fire.

"Oh, that's precious," laughed Leah, tapping her on the cheek. "That boy is the same way… Both of you get so red when you're flustered."

"Yeah," laughed Bella, pulling away as Leah moved towards the door. "Thanks again."

"Not a problem, dear. You have a good night now."

"Goodnight, Leah."

Bella was still red-faced when she sat down across from her brother, the spacious dining room table set with more food than the two of them could ever hope to finish.

"Leah says to give you leftovers," he said, handing her a scrap of paper from the table. "Chef's orders." Bella read Leah's scrawled instructions to her brother and laughed.

 _These leftovers are for your sister. I hope you're gentleman enough to give them up. You'll be in trouble if I hear otherwise (and you know that I'll check)._

"She's nice," repeated Bella, sitting across from her brother at the place that had been set for her. She took a covert look around the fancy room. "And your dining room is nice too."

"Oh, yeah…" Emmett shrugged. "I don't use it much, but it's cool, I guess."

Bella snorted.

"Well, dig in," he said. "I'd hate for it to get cold."

Leah, in her afternoon cooking frenzy, had prepared everything from salad, to potatoes, to chicken, and even a dish that looked like homemade bread. The enormity of it reminded Bella of Thanksgiving dinner when she would help her father throw together all the family favourites for the three of them. They would always end up with a plethora of Tupperware in the fridge and freezer that they would pick through for weeks afterward.

Bella helped herself to some of everything, knowing that she would never be able to finish it all. Weeks of eating like a little bird had lessened the amount of food she could eat, but she had already made up her mind to try and eat as much of it as she possibly could.

It looked too good to pass up.

"So…" Emmett waited until they had each finished their plates of food—Bella's significantly smaller than his—before he spoke.

"So?"

"Can we talk?" he asked. "Leah kind of interrupted us…"

"Sure." She swallowed hard, taking a large sip of water that she didn't need. Emmett laid his fork and knife down beside his plate, bunching a napkin in his fist.

"You can keep going, if you're still hungry," he said. "I'm stuffed, but I don't mind sitting here if…"

"No, I'm done," she said. "Where should I put the plate?"

"Leave it," he said. "I'll take care of it later."

"But…"

"It's fine, Bell," he laughed. "Really. Never mind cleaning."

"If you say so."

"I do say so," he teased. "Want to go back to the living room? Or are you more comfortable here? Or we could head outside, if you want… I've got a wicked view from the back patio."

"Outside sounds nice," she said, glancing out at the bright blue sky that was slowly turning black. The dining room faced the west—the back of the house—and for the first time Bella caught sight of some of the glowing city lights.

"It's not a country view like I originally wanted," admitted Emmett, "but it does the trick. There's something really pretty about all the lights…"

"Yeah," said Bella. She followed her brother through to the kitchen—which was just as nice as the rest of the house—and through a large set of French doors that led onto a patio. The air outside was warm and humid as Bella had grown to expect, but the shade from the coconut trees on the edge of the property had kept the patio furniture out of the direct sun.

"I like to sit out here sometimes when things are quiet," said Emmett, lowering himself onto a porch swing. "I don't have any neighbours that are close enough to bother me, but sometimes…"

Bella, taking a deep breath, perched herself on the other side of the swing, letting Emmett drape his arm around her shoulders. Like a child, she stuck her feet out in front of her, letting him rock the swing with his feet on the ground before she curled hers up under her, leaning in towards him.

She liked that he let her sit so close.

"Let me know if you get cold," he said. "I've got sweaters and stuff inside…"

"I'm fine," she said. The air was warm, but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. Bella knew first hand how cool the nights could be, but she could tell that this particular evening would not be one of those nippy, windy nights that made her tremble with cold. This would be one of those warm, sticky evenings—the kind that used to force her to sleep with the windows open in that little upstairs bedroom of Laurent's townhouse.

She shivered. She did not like to think about her time there.

"Can we talk about dad?" asked Emmett, his voice breaking through her unhappy memories. The quiet of his voice made her hedge—she did not want him to be sad—but she gave a hesitant little nod.

"Sure."

"What happened?" he asked, blurting the question as if he had been holding it inside too long. "What went wrong?"

"I don't know," said Bella, shaking her head. "He was fine, and then all of a sudden he was sick."

"Sick how?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. She wondered if she should have grabbed some tissues. "They never really said."

"When did he get sick?"

"In the summer," she replied. "Almost a year ago. I came home from work and he was on the floor. They took him in to the hospital and kept him for a little while, but then he came home. The same thing happened a few more times before they kept him there for good. He just kept getting worse…"

"They never said what it was?"

"No."

"Did they look into it?"

"Yes," said Bella, remembering the forms she had signed to authorize an autopsy. "Nothing conclusive. No cancer, no foul play, no nothing. He just… got sick."

The words sounded feeble, even to her ears.

"Was he cremated?"

"No," said Bella. "I was going to, because it's cheaper, but the police department paid for the burial."

"Did he…" Emmett cleared his throat. "What was he like, near the end?"

Bella, careful not to shift too much weight onto him, rested her head carefully against his shoulder. She was silent for a long moment as she thought back to those last few days, to the last conversation she had ever had with him.

"He was… dad," she said carefully, sniffling when his hand squeezed her shoulder. "He denied he was sick right up until the very end, and only let me kiss him when I was leaving."

"Was he angry?"

"Angry?" Bella frowned. "Angry at what?"

She felt his chin on her head.

"Angry at me?"

"Oh."

Bella held her breath.

"I… don't know," she said finally. "He never said."

"Did he ever say _anything?"_

"No," she replied. This was the absolute truth—Charlie had not once mentioned his son in Bella's presence, even as he lay sick in his hospital bed. "But he didn't even believe he was sick."

"I should have been there," said Emmett finally. "I'm sorry I wasn't."

"It's okay," said Bella. "You didn't know."

"No, but I didn't ask, either."

"He was young," protested Bella. "There was no reason to think he'd…"

She couldn't bring herself to say the word _die._

"No," admitted Emmett. "I guess not."

They swung in silence for a long while, neither speaking as they watched the glowing city lights flickering in the distance. Emmett's house was far enough away from the city center to see the stars, though Bella could not bring herself to look up. From here, the city seemed so innocuous and beautiful. There was no hint of the dirty underbelly, of the crowded, sketchy nighttime streets, or the shady, dispiriting people who came out once the sun went down. Looking away from the lights and towards the trees on the left, Bella could see the distant glow of a neighbour's window—some other celebrity, perhaps?—and she thought she could hear the faintest hint of laughter when the wind was still.

"Did mom ever call?" asked Emmett suddenly, breaking into the silence with another question.

"No," said Bella. "Not that I know of. Dad never mentioned her, either…"

"Not even after…?"

"No." Bella shook her head. "I don't even think she knows."

"She never came back?"

"Never," said Bella. "I'm sure if she had, dad would have taken her in a heartbeat."

Emmett grimaced.

"She's written to me, you know," he said. Bella's head snapped around.

"What?"

"Yeah. Not for years, but when I first came into Hollywood, I got a letter from her."

"Oh." Bella's stomach clenched.

Renee, no matter what her father said, had always been selfish and callous in her daughter's eyes. Bella could not imagine, not even for one moment, walking away from the children she had created, or from the man who had loved her from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. Bella had often wondered just what it was that her mother had run away from, or more importantly, what she had run _towards_ , but the one thing she could never forgive was the sudden and abrupt abandonment Renee had imposed on her family before Bella could even walk.

"She asked me for money," said Emmett, his eyes fixed on the patio. "I guess she figured I was good for something, once I had left Washington…"

Bella bit her lip.

"We never heard from her."

"I'm sorry," he said. "If it's any consolation, I told her to get lost…"

Bella grimaced.

"You know," she began, "I often believed that if she _had_ come back, that dad wouldn't have hesitated."

"Hesitated to what?"

"To go with her," said Bella. "Or at least take her back. He was so angry with her and so bitter that she left, but I don't doubt that if she had come crawling back, asking him to give her another chance, he would have done it in a heartbeat."

"She's in Arizona now," said Emmett, making Bella grimace. "Or she was, when she wrote… Phoenix, to be exact. And she had a new last name."

"She's married?"

"I guess so," said Emmett. "She's Renee Dwyer, now."

"Huh."

"Do you want to know her?" asked Emmett. "I kept the address. You could write to her, if you wanted to."

"No." Bella's voice was almost sharp. "I don't want anything to do with her."

"Fair enough."

"You know," she began, and Emmett looked down at her, "I think dad liked her best of all of us."

"He loved you," said Emmett after a moment of reflection. "I know that for sure. Charlie loved you, Bell."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "but he was _in_ love with _her_."

Emmett sighed.

"The more I think about it, the more I realize that Charlie was…"

"Was what?" she asked. Emmett bit his lip.

"A complicated man," said Emmett. "Weirdly passionate in his own way, but so apathetic and cold in others…"

"I know exactly what you mean," said Bella easily. Her father had always been strange—exactly as Emmett had put it. He had been a passionate and dedicated man, and a good, stable father, but he had never been one to coddle or cuddle his children. Bella had often missed the warmth of fatherly love, even though she knew he _did_ love her in his own way.

"He…" Bella hesitated, glad when her brother gave her time to think. "He made me feel…"

"Selfish?" guessed Emmett. Bella, surprised, nodded.

"Yeah."

"I know what you mean," said Emmett. "I could say a whole lot of things about Charlie, but you'll never hear me say that he let his kids go without. He was a good provider."

"Yeah." Bella sniffled again. "He was."

"But a kid needs more than a house and food," said Emmett. "Especially one like you."

"Like me?"

"You were always such a sweet little thing," he chuckled. "Always holding hands, and hugging, or kissing, or snuggling…"

Bella flushed.

"Didn't you wonder why I didn't mind it?" he asked. "I wasn't a very affectionate kid, but I let _you_ do whatever you wanted."

Bella frowned. Emmett, his grip on her shoulders tightening, pulled her in closer, running his thumb over her arm.

"Charlie never gave you the kind of love you craved," he said gently. "Even as a kid I saw that. He very rarely hugged, or gave kisses… He let you sit on his knee and tucked you into bed every night, but that was about it."

"Yeah."

"So someone had to love you like he should have," said Emmett. "I'll always love him, but part of me has to wonder where his head was."

"Did he love mom like that? Did he hug or cuddle _her?"_

"Yes," said Emmett. "I know you don't remember her, but I do. He was a different man with her, Bella… I'm sorry you couldn't get to know that side of him."

She wiped a tear from her cheek.

"And Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to say this, and I don't want you to get upset, but I can't let you go on thinking that what he did was normal." The tension in her muscles intensified, and though she felt the urge to pull away, she forced herself to stay still.

"What?"

"What he did? After I left?"

"Yeah?"

"That's wasn't right," said Emmett gently. "Keeping you away from other kids? Hiding my letters? It's not right, Bell. It's screwed up. And the fact that he kept you from going to school…"

"He wasn't rich, Em," said Bella quickly. "We didn't have the money for that."

"Bullshit," said Emmett, a hint of venom in his voice now. "Mr. Ferguson told me all about it. You had a full ride to Yale, or Dartmouth, or one of those Ivy league schools."

"Yeah, but…"

"He was scared to be alone," said Emmett gently, cutting across her protests. "That's what his issue was. And I get it, I really do, but that doesn't make it right. He isolated you, Bella, and was keeping you from reaching your full potential."

"He was a good man," said Bella. "He was…"

"I'm not saying he wasn't," soothed Emmett. "All I'm saying is that he was wrong… _so, so_ wrong."

"I just think he didn't want to lose both of us," said Bella. "He was so afraid I'd run off to join _you_ …"

"That's a father's job," said Emmett. "That's what he was _supposed_ to do."

"Let me run away?" she asked. "Like he did with you? Let me run off and never talk to me again?" She bit her lip, though she knew Emmett could see it trembling,

"No," said Emmett. His voice was raw. "No, Bella. He was never supposed to keep you cooped up in a little cage like he did. He was supposed to let you go and watch you fly. _That_ should have been his joy—to see his children soar to heights he could have never imagined for himself. He was supposed to set you free."

Bella could not help the brimming tears that spilled over onto her cheeks and when Emmett reached around to hug her properly, she accepted his warmth with wide, open arms.

 **A/N: Sorry about the wait, everyone... things have been a little hectic. I finished my summer job and am back in school for teacher's college (it's looking like I've got a busy year ahead), and I just got back from an out of town trip to visit my mom. Now my mom is sick and in the ICU (it's fairly serious and they're not sure what's wrong), and since she's a 16-hour bus ride away, I've been hanging on my phone for the last little while waiting for news. My apologies for the late chapter, and I promise to try and get things together and reinstate some kind of schedule.  
**

 **Also, since writing new material is much more difficult than editing old stuff, I've begun some editing work on Dark Waltz. It's not posted yet as I'm only through with chapter 2, but I do have a question for you. Would you rather I wait until I've got the entire thing edited before I start reposting chapters (meaning that the older, crappier version stays up longer), or would you rather me post the updates as I edit (but the old one would be taken down)? The story will be the same (maybe a few minor changes here and there), so if you've already read it there won't be too many surprises.**

 **Let me know what you think! I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter! It's a fairly long one.**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The muffin in Alice's outstretched hand smelled like heaven.

"Take it," she said, a puckering frown creasing her brow. "I mean it. You look like death."

"I'm fine," said Bella, a false, saccharine smile on her face as she clasped it. Her fingertips sunk into the top, and she could almost feel the sugary topping clumping under her nails.

"Fine or not," said Alice, "eat it. Are you sure your blood sugar isn't low?"

"No," laughed Bella. Her mouth watered. "I just didn't sleep very well…"

"You haven't been 'sleeping well' for the past week and a half," she accused. "Is there something wrong at your place?"

"No, not at all," lied Bella. "It's just been pretty hot…"

Alice grimaced. Bella knew that she adored her air conditioning—Alice had not grown up in California and the sticky, humid summers were almost as foreign to her as they were to Bella. When the café's central air system had gone down just two weeks prior, Bella had seriously begun to wonder whether her boss had shed her cute, pixie persona for some horns and a tail.

That day, Bella had thanked God for gentle, patient Jasper.

"Well, eat that," said Alice again, leaning back to look her over. "You're skinny."

"I've always been skinny," Bella chuckled, popping a piece of pastry into her mouth. It was all she could do not to devour it like an animal.

"Not _this_ skinny," she retorted. "I mean…"

"I'm _fine,_ Alice," said Bella again. "I swear it."

Alice cocked an eyebrow.

"What did you eat for breakfast this morning?" she asked. "What about dinner last night?"

"I don't eat breakfast, you know that," said Bella, her face reddening. "I'm not really a morning person…"

"Mhm, and dinner?" prompted Alice, making Bella bite her lip.

"Pizza," she lied. "From that little place just down from me."

"Rubino's?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Nice try. Rubino's is at least ten blocks from your apartment and there's no way you walked all the way down there so late at night," said Alice quickly, her eyes narrowing.

"Alice…" Bella was growing irritated. "I had pizza. I swear it. You can come and look in my fridge if you don't believe me…"

"I _don't_ believe you," she said, shaking her head. "I don't want to call you out, but you make me worry."

"Well _don't_ ," said Bella. "I'm _fine."_

"You're not," insisted Alice. "Anyone can see that…"

Bella sighed. Alice had been telling her this for the past three days, but Bella could not bring herself to tell the whole truth. What she had said to Alice was not a _total_ lie… she _was_ tired, her apartment _was_ hot, and she _did_ have a headache…

"What aren't you telling me?" asked Alice finally, sliding herself off of the desk. The laptop lid had been down since Alice had barged in, and even though the door was closed, Bella could hear the ruckus and chaos of the busy storefront. Alice should be out there, helping her husband and Tyler, but instead she was here, interrogating Bella…

"Nothing," said Bella again, the exasperation in her voice unavoidable. "I swear it, Alice. I'm fine."

Alice's lips pursed.

"Eat your muffin," she said finally, eying the quickly cooling pastry in Bella's hand. "It's your favourite."

"Thanks," said Bella quickly, breaking off another piece. She chewed it carefully, smiling around her slow bite as Alice gawped.

Bella felt as if she might cry.

"Don't forget to take your break, either," said Alice gently, hovering near the newly-opened door. "Try and get some fresh air."

Bella, lips pursed, nodded and rose from her seat.

"I'll just…" she gestured towards the back door. "Yeah."

She was sure that Alice, always watching, saw her teeth dig into her lip in an attempt to tame the sudden flood of frustration washing through her. Bella did not glance back. She could not bring herself to look at the carefully crafted concern on Alice's face, knowing that sooner or later, if Alice kept pushing, she would spill all her secrets…

Her embarrassment was sudden and hot, and she was glad that she made it outside, the metal door clanging loudly in her wake, before she had to wipe her cheeks. It was only after she stood for a moment, holding absolutely still to listen for any bystanders, that Bella turned to the treat in her hand.

She shoved that muffin into her face so fast that it almost seemed to vanish. Her fingers, sticky with sugar and blueberries, went into her mouth as well, every last remnant of the pastry gone in seconds. As she wiped angry tears from her cheeks, she could feel the muffin sliding down her throat, and though it assuaged the sharp, pinching pangs of hunger, the hollow ache in her stomach that had been her constant companion remained.

Bella, hearing the back door creak open, rushed to the other end of the alley—away from the little hiding space she had occupied in the days before Alice had found her. She knew it was Tyler—he would be on garbage duty now that Alice had gone back to the front— but Bella could not bring herself to look at him.

"Alright Bella?" he called.

"Fine, Ty," she said. He was far enough away that he could not hear the quaver in her voice. "Just talking a walk."

When she chanced a glance over she saw him wave her off, slamming the metal door behind him.

After ten minutes of aimless pacing she could not stand the silence any longer, and quietly slipped back into her desk chair, returning to the stack of papers waiting in her in-tray.

* * *

"Hey Alice! Is my brother around?" Alice jumped—it was closing time, and Rose had watched her turn the open sign around just moments before. Rosalie so rarely came by the café—she was always so busy—and Alice had not been expecting her. Despite her sudden appearance, however, and the loud voice ringing out from the darkness, Alice recovered and let the cloth she was using to clean the tables fall from her hand.

"He's just out back," she said, pointing vaguely towards the office, "dealing with the garbage situation."

"Garbage situation?"

"We have a raccoon or something," frowned Alice. "It made a huge mess. Everything was all turned over when I went out. There was garbage scattered all over the alley..."

"Are Tyler and Bella gone?" asked Rose.

"Tyler is," said Alice quickly. "Bella's…"

"What?"

In truth, little Bella was half the reason Rosalie had decided to drive the few miles from her house to her sister-in-law's busy little café on its bustling side street. She always liked to see her family—Jasper and Alice were the only ones left, after all—but today, something in her gut had felt off. It was just that morning, as she sat in her office across from Kitty, that the girl had asked after Bella and Rose had realized that she could not give an adequate answer. Ever since Bella had appeared on her doorstep all those weeks ago, Rose had seen very little of her.

The look on Alice's face made Rosalie's heart race.

"Is she still here?" asked Rose. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_ , per se…" Alice hedged. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

Alice sighed.

"She… I don't really know."

Rosalie, not a model of patience or calm like her brother, cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't mean to be evasive," said Alice quickly. "It's just that I really don't know."

"Well, tell me what you _do_ know," said Rose, walking with Alice to the counter. "What time is she supposed to be out?"

"She'll come out in exactly thirteen minutes," said Alice. "She runs herself like clockwork. She wouldn't go early even if I begged her to."

Rosalie grimaced.

"Thirteen minutes, then," she said. "What's wrong?"

She accepted the tea when Alice handed her the hot paper cup.

"Just some strange things I've noticed," said Alice. "She's skinny."

"Emmett says she's always been skinny," said Rose. "He says…"

"Does she know about that? Whatever it is the two of you are doing?" asked Alice suddenly, her voice lowering. "I've almost spilled the beans, but I stopped myself because I wasn't sure…"

"No," admitted Rose, a flash of guilt making her flush. "Emmett says he wants to be the one to tell her." _He had told her as much just the night before, when she'd spent the evening in his big, fancy dining room…_

"How serious?"

"Not very," said Rose quickly. "Nothing yet. But it does make me nervous. She just got him back, you know? And now…"

Alice looked troubled.

"He's getting around to it," she said finally. "I think he's just waiting for the right time. He doesn't want to upset her, but I really don't think she'll mind… she's not that kind of person…"

"But?"

"But nothing," said Rose quickly, shaking her head. _This was not what she had come here to discuss_. "Tell me what you were going to say."

"I really don't know _what_ to say, Rose," sighed Alice. "I have no proof of anything, and she won't tell me exactly what's wrong…"

"What do you _think_ is wrong?"

"I don't know."

Rose bit her tongue. She could feel herself growing more and more frustrated as she pried, but the look on Alice's face made her hold her temper in check. She could not afford to insult Alice— not when she seemed to have something so important to say…

"Something's not right at home," said Alice finally, choosing her words carefully. A glance at the clock told Rose they had nine minutes left. "I _know_ something's not right."

"The apartment is in a good area," said Rose quickly. "I made sure of that before I helped her move…"

"I don't think there's something wrong with the _area_ ," replied Alice. "I think it has to do with _her."_

"Is she hurt?" asked Rose quickly. "Or upset? Or maybe having trouble adjusting? There are a whole bunch of things that might be wearing her down right now…"

"She doesn't seem hurt," said Alice. "More like… sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah," said Alice. "Sad. She's avoiding me."

"Why?"

"I don't know," said Alice, her voice a loud whisper as her little face pinched. "She used to be fine… a little shy, maybe, but now it seems purposeful. Like she's _trying_ to stay away from me. I don't know what I did, or even _if_ I did anything…"

"I'll talk to her," said Rose. "See if I can get some more information—"

"Alice?"

"Hey!" Alice's voice went from somber and anxious to chipper and bright so fast that it almost gave Rose whiplash. When she saw Bella's head, peeking around the corner of the door to the office, she fought hard against the heat rushing up her neck. _Had Bella heard them talking? Was that an accusatory look on her face, or was she just surprised to see Rose…?_

"Oh, hi," said Bella, bashful. "I just had a question for Alice. It can wait if you two are busy…"

"Not at all, Bella. What is it?"

The pair of them disappeared behind the office door. Rose sipped her tea, which was still too hot to drink, and grimaced when it scalded her tongue.

"We can take care of it tomorrow, Bella." Rose heard Alice as she cracked the door open once more. "Why don't you go on home for the night? If you're quick, you can make the next bus…"

"Thanks, Alice. See you tomorrow."

"Have a good night, Bella…"

"Where's your truck?" asked Rose suddenly, startling Bella as the girl tried to slip away. "I thought you had it back…"

"Yeah…" Bella's laugh was shaky. "I forgot to gas it up."

Rose frowned.

"Well come with me, then," she said. "I came to see my brother, but he's on garbage duty so I'll come back later. We can grab some food on the way home."

Alice, though she was smiling gratefully at Rose, did not have the same trained eye that Rosalie did. Rose did not miss the sudden flare of panic that Bella fought so hard to repress, and when Alice turned away, she raised an eyebrow. Bella, who could not have missed the inquisitive, but entirely silent exchange they were having, simply looked away, clearing her throat.

"Oh, thanks Rose, but it's out of your way…"

"Nonsense," said Rosalie. "I haven't spent time with you in _forever…"_

"We had tea," protested Bella, and Rose grimaced at the recollection of the girl's panic and tears. She had felt such a strong urge to give Emmett a smack when Bella told her what had happened… how could he have left her to the wolves like that? He could have at least warned her…

"Oh come on," Rose smiled. "I don't bite… much."

Even Bella could not hide her grin.

"Fine," said Bella. "But I'm not all that hungry."

Alice's eyes flashed.

"We'll figure that out on the way," dismissed Rose. "Come on. My car's just out front."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow Alice. Say goodbye to Jasper for me."

"Will do," said Alice. "Don't be a stranger, Rose…"

Bella did not notice the look exchanged between the two older women—a fact for which Rose was eternally grateful. As Rosalie took the girl's arm, she couldn't help but remember what Alice had said.

The girl really was very skinny.

Neither of them said a word as Rose ushered Bella into the front of her red BMW, driving down the nearly-deserted road towards the main intersection. Rose had a sneaking suspicion why Bella was being so hesitant—her story about the gas and her shady attitude towards take-out… they all screamed financial difficulty. The blatant growling of Bella's stomach, so sudden and loud over the quiet snarling of the car, told Rose she was lying about being hungry. Rose eyed the girl, taking in her purposefully nonchalant posture and the determined gaze she had fixed on the yellow midline of the road. She recognized the signs of anxiety, though she was sure that if she asked, Bella would deny it. Rose was torn between frustration and pity—part of her understood that deep-seated pride, the desire to be self-sufficient and the sinking, sticky embarrassment when you realized that you weren't. She knew what it was like to try and hold her head up when everything around her seemed so hell-bent on tearing her down, and how humiliating and frightening it was when she finally acknowledged that she could no longer fight the beast herself.

But an even bigger part of her wanted to slap the girl silly for refusing to ask for help.

"Bella?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?" Bella's eyes flashed.

"Fine. Why?"

"Because you don't look fine. And because my sister-in-law is worried about you."

"Alice…" Bella's voice grew higher as she gritted her teeth. "I've told her a thousand times. I'm _fine."_

"Bullshit," said Rosalie, never one to mince her words. "You are clearly _not_ fine. There's no point pretending otherwise—in case you forgot, it's my job to notice things like that."

Bella flushed so deeply that even her neck turned pink, and when she turned to glare, Rose returned her gaze to the road. The angry, venomous stare lasted only a moment before the ire leeched out of her as quickly as it had risen, and she slumped down in her seat.

She didn't say a word.

"Is someone bothering you?" asked Rose, turning carefully towards Bella's apartment. "You mentioned that weird stoner kid from downstairs…"

"No," said Bella, and Rose was abashed to see her wiping a tear away. "No one's bothering me."

"Then what?" asked Rose. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"I don't _want_ you to help me," said Bella, and though the words were harsh, her voice was small. "I'm _fine_ on my own…"

Rose sighed, falling silent for the rest of the drive. It took ten minutes for her to pull up to Bella's building, parking her car next to Bella's behemoth of a truck. The two women sat in silence for a long moment before Rose huffed a sigh, opening her door.

"Come on, then," she said. "No point sitting in the car all night."

Bella, eyes suddenly wide, bit her lip and crept outside.

"Thanks for the ride," she said. Her shoes—black, as per Alice's standard—kicked at a pile of sand on the black asphalt.

"No problem," said Rose. "Are you going to invite me up?"

"I, uh…"

"I, uh?" mimicked Rose. "Come on. I want to talk."

Bella's face scrunched up.

"Sure," she said, her shoulders slumping as she relented. "Come up, if you want to."

"I do," said Rose, following Bella as she inched towards her building. Rose did not miss the lull in her step—she did not know what exactly made Bella hedge, but there could no doubt that she was hesitating.

"I, uh…" Bella spoke as they ascended the final flight of stairs. "It's a bit messy."

"Don't worry about it," said Rose. "I don't mind."

"Yeah…"

Rose frowned when Bella fumbled with her key—it slipped right out from between her fingers and hit the dirty hallway carpet with a muffled _ping_. Bella snatched it up almost at once, her frowning, anxious gaze flitting to Rose for only a moment before she managed to get the key into the lock, and swung the door open.

The house was pitch black.

"Come in," said Bella softly, reaching her hand around the kitchen wall. Rose could hear her rough, ragged fingernails scraping along the wall until she flicked the light switch, letting the lone, fluorescent bulb stutter to life.

Rose did not know what Bella had been talking about—there was no sign of a mess anywhere. As she took off her shoes—it looked as if Bella had taken great pains to keep her floor clean—she did not spy so much as a lone spoon in the sink, or any crumbs by the toaster.

"What mess?" she asked, laughing as she stepped further into the kitchen. "This place is almost spotless…"

"There's…" Bella shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I thought it was worse than it is."

"Mind if I go to the futon?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're welcome to change, or to shower, or whatever you want…"

"I'll grab some new clothes," said Bella quickly. "Go ahead and sit down. I'll be quick."

It was only when Rosalie caught sight of the bedroom that Bella's words made sense—all around the room, in the closet, on dresser knobs, on the curtain rod, and even on some nails that previous tenants had hammered through the drywall, were hangers with wet clothes. Rose knew the building had no laundry facilities—it had been one of the drawbacks that had made Bella hesitate—but she knew for a fact that the laundromat down the street was open 24-hours.

Bella snapped the door closed too quickly for Rose to catch sight of anything else.

While she was alone, Rose took a moment to inventory the room she had helped Bella set up. There, on the end table, was the black card box that Alice and Jasper had given her as a housewarming gift. There were some books stacked up next to it—mostly old, worn-out classics—but all the boxes that had littered the house before were now gone. Rose remembered how heavy those boxes had been—the girl really did have an extraordinary number of paperbacks—but even when she peeked into the end-table drawer and on the little shelf underneath the coffee table, all Rose could find was the small, measly stack.

"Sorry about that," said Bella quickly, sneaking out of her darkened bedroom. She had chosen some lounge pants—stretchy, but much too warm for Rosalie's taste. She hovered near the door to the bedroom for only a moment, meeting Rosalie's deliberate silence with her own, before she sat carefully on the other end of the futon, her leg shaking.

"So?" asked Rose, glancing around the living room. Bella flicked on another lamp. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I'm…"

"Fine, I know." Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Enough with the bullshit. What's going on with you?"

Bella bit her lip.

"It's nothing, really," said Bella, shaking her head. "I just…"

"Yes?"

Bella sighed.

"Nothing."

"You know," began Rose, letting out a long, frustrated breath. "There is nothing wrong with a few challenges."

Bella stared at her.

"I know."

"Do you?" asked Rose. "Because something's clearly bothering you—Alice thinks she's _insulted_ you—and you're dodging all of her questions."

"I just don't want her to worry," said Bella quickly, rubbing her eyes. "She always worries."

"Yeah, she does," began Rose, "but in all honesty, I think she might have a good reason to."

"Why?"

"Look around you, Bella," said Rose. Bella frowned. "You've been here almost two months, and it looks like you have less than when you moved in."

"Money's tight," snapped Bella quickly. "I don't have all kinds of extra cash to blow on a bunch of knick-knacks or…"

"I didn't mean it like that," said Rose quickly. "I know how fast money flies in this city. Trust me. I just mean…"

Bella bit her fingernails.

"This doesn't feel like your _home,_ " she said gently. "It's somewhere for you to sleep, but I saw more personality in your room at the centre than I do here."

"I'm busy," defended Bella. "I mean…"

"And Alice is worried about your… eating habits."

Bella froze.

"What about them?"

"She thinks your skinny." Rose suppressed an inappropriate smirk—could almost see Bella's muscles working to stop her from rolling her eyes.

"I _am_ skinny," said Bella. "Always have been. Ask anyone."

"There is no shame in asking for help when you need it," blurted Rose suddenly, turning her body to face Bella's. "I mean it. You've got people who can help you."

"I don't _want_ help," said Bella, her frustration finally bubbling over. "I'm managing, okay? I have my rent paid, and my electricity is still on…"

"And what about other things?" asked Rose. "Recreation? Food? Transportation?"

"It's fine," said Bella. "I get by."

"When's the last time you ate something?"

"This afternoon," said Bella quickly, looking smug. "I had a muffin…"

"Something that Alice didn't make you eat."

"I have dinner with my brother every Sunday…"

"I… yeah. But what about groceries?"

 _She had almost said 'I know'…_

"I… I get by," said Bella again, her face growing hot. "Please Rose, let it go."

"I'm sorry," said Rose, "but I can't. Not if you're struggling."

"Everybody struggles," said Bella, her agitation bringing her to her feet. "I'm fine on my own."

"Enough," said Rosalie. "If you can prove to me that you're okay, I'll leave it alone. I'll order us a pizza—yes I _will,_ so don't even try to convince me otherwise—and we can play that rude game Alice got you and I'll go home and leave you be."

"But?" scowled Bella.

"But if you can't, then I need to do something about that," she said. "So go on. Prove it."

"How?"

"What's with the laundry?" she asked, jerking her chin at the closed bedroom door.

"Saves on cash," said Bella. "It's better on the environment, too. None of that dryer business…"

"Do you have food in the house?"

"Yes," said Bella, though Rose caught the uncertainty in her voice. "I have some stuff…"

Without saying another word, Bella dragging behind, Rose went to the small, clean kitchen. Throwing open the door she knew held the food, Rose's mouth went dry.

"A box of rice and a can of tomatoes?" she asked, eying the two lone items on the uppermost shelf. "Jesus, Bella…"

"No, don't…" said Bella, her eyes bright. Rose felt a pang of sympathy—she knew the girl would be embarrassed—but that did not stop her as she wrenched open the door to the refrigerator.

"Nothing," said Rose, disbelief sinking in. The freezer was also empty, holding nothing but frosty chunks of ice. "You've got no food."

"I…" Bella bit her lip. "I _did_ have food…"

When Rose's sharp eyes flashed to her face, Bella's whole body seemed to slump. The anger in Rose's breast—how could she have let it get this bad?—trickled slowly away as she watched Bella's composure break, her bitten lower lip finally beginning to tremble before her shoulders began to shake.

There was a strange motherly instinct—one that was not familiar to Rosalie in the slightest—that reared up at the sight of her tears, and despite the smoldering irritation burning hot in her chest, she reached out two strong arms and pulled the girl in for a hug. The maternal urge to soothe was not one that Rose was used to—not to mention that Bella was far too old to be anything close to her child—but in that moment she let it take over, refusing to dissect this new development while the girl was still upset.

" _This_ is why we push," she said gently, once the tears had begun to slow. "This is _exactly_ why Alice was so worried."

"I…" Bella pulled away. "I'm _fine_ , I swear it…"

"Oh, _enough!"_ snapped Rose. "Stop it. You're a smart girl, Bella, and you've got a good heart, but you have _got_ to let go of that pride. It's going to kill you if you don't stop."

"I'm not…"

"If you're not proud, then why haven't you asked for help? Any one of us—me, or Alice, or Jasper, and _especially_ your brother—would have been here in a second had you asked us."

"I didn't…"

"You didn't what?" demanded Rosalie, holding her shoulders. "You didn't think we'd help?"

"No," said Bella, shaking her head. "I just…"

"There is _no_ excuse," said Rosalie. "Enough is enough."

"I didn't want to be a burden," interrupted Bella, her words coming out in a rush. "All I ever do is take and take… I couldn't do it again."

Rosalie, her tirade dying on her tongue, stood, dumbfounded.

"What do you mean, a burden?" she asked. "Who told you that?"

"Ever since I came here, I've been nothing but that," said Bella, wrapping her arms around herself. "I was a burden on myself, and on my friends back home, and then on Laurent and James, and then on _you…"_

"You're not a…"

"And then I was a burden on Alice, and Emmett has been trying everything in his power to get me to be a burden on _him…"_

"Your brother loves you," said Rose quickly. "More than you know..."

"So for once in my life, I wanted to do something right," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't think it would be this way, but I couldn't…"

Her voice died out, and Rosalie couldn't help but offer her a napkin from her purse.

"You know," said Rose, speaking into the semi-darkness of the kitchen, "you deserve far better than you give yourself credit for."

Bella scoffed.

"I mean it," said Rosalie. "No one on this planet deserves to go hungry, or to cry alone at night when things go wrong. You're _not_ a burden…"

"Yes, I am."

"Do you know what a family does, Bella?" asked Rose. "Do you have any idea at all?"

Bella stared. Rose could tell by the sudden paleness in her cheeks and the deep furrow between her brows that her mind had flashed immediately to her father, who, as she had learned from Emmett, had been less than stellar…

"No, I don't think you do," she said finally, taking in Bella's silence. "But I'm telling you one thing—I'm going to show you what family does, and maybe, for once in your life, you'll get it through your thick head that you're worth so much more than you think to the people who care about you." Her eyes widened as Bella took in Rosalie's meaning, and when she spoke, her voice shook.

"Please don't call him. He'll be…"

"He'll be angry, I'm sure," said Rose, "and probably afraid. He might even shout a little bit. But he loves you—and I know he'll do the right thing."

"No, please…"

"Enough," said Rose. "You've done enough on your own. Let him help you."

"I don't want his help," she protested. "He's done enough…"

"Let him be the judge of that," said Rose, her hand reaching for her pocket.

"But…"

"But nothing," said Rosalie. "You're skin and bones. You've got no money for laundry. You won't even turn the lights on…"

"They're on," she protested.

"How many nights have you sat in the dark because you're afraid of running up the bill?"

Bella's silence answered the question for her.

"If the cost of one light is too much for you to handle, then that means you need some backup."

Defeated, and seeming to understand that Rose would not be deterred, Bella spun around on her heel, flicked off the kitchen light, and marched back to the living room, where Rose heard her noisy, embarrassed tears start back up.

She was glad for the privacy when she pulled her cellphone from her back pocket, and hit the number she had called so many times before.

When he arrived, panic in his eyes and a stormy frown on his face, Rose was not surprised that she was ignored. His knocks were almost frantic—scaring Bella, who had just begun to calm down—and when Rose opened the door to let him in, he had all but bowled her over. The sound of her tears seemed to agitate him—the sound of her upset rang out from the living room like a beacon, and Rose stayed in the dark of the kitchen, listening as he went to speak with her.

"What's wrong, Bella?" he asked, and Rosalie heard Bella shifting. "Rose sounded upset…"

Bella did not reply—her stormy tears, part frustration, part embarrassment, and part, Rose was sure, disappointment, kept him in the dark. Rosalie had not had the chance to explain exactly what was wrong—only that his sister needed him, and that something was amiss.

She supposed, in hindsight, that she could have worded herself a little more clearly. The fact remained, however, that despite what he had been doing, he had rushed over, even though it was nearing midnight, and he hadn't even stopped his anxious pursuit to greet the woman he'd been seeing almost every weekend.

"I love you, Bell. We'll sort this out, whatever it is… I'm going to see Rose, okay? You hang tight…"

His rambling voice got louder as he moved further and further from the couch, the sound of Bella's disquiet carrying through with him. His face, when he appeared in near-silhouette against the lone living room lamp, was worried, and Rosalie beckoned him closer.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Does she need a doctor? Is she hurt?"

"No," said Rose, shaking her head. "I wasn't exactly clear, and I'm sorry for that…"

He stared at her.

"Look." Opening up the cabinet behind her, she stepped aside to let Emmett inventory the paltry store himself. He didn't move as his eyes raked through, his lips pursed in an unhappy smile. Logically, as Rosalie had, he followed up with the fridge and freezer, the discontent on his face fixed in place when he found it just as empty as Rose had.

"What else?" he growled, letting the freezer fall shut with a loud _snap._ "What else is she missing?"

"I don't know," admitted Rose. "She told me that she 'forgot' to gas up her truck, and she's got her laundry hanging all around her room. I think she's been hand-washing…"

Emmett, rising to his full height, stalked back into the living room, leaving Rose alone in the kitchen.

"This is ridiculous," he said angrily. "I mean it, Bella. That's enough. I've told you a thousand times that I'm here…"

"I'm sorry." Rose heard the little voice squeaking through the tears, and though her heart tugged painfully at the sound, she still did not enter. The words seemed to have the same effect on Emmett—when he spoke again, the frustrated anger in his voice had all but died away.

"You stay put. I'll be back in a little while, okay? I'll ask Rose to stay…"

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"But…"

"Rose?" Emmett came into the kitchen. "Can you stay with her for a bit?"

"Of course."

"I'll be back in about half an hour. Try and calm her down. I don't know what exactly has her so worked up, but she's pretty upset…"

"She didn't want me to call," Rose said, lowering her voice so Bella would not hear. "She begged me not to…"

"Of course she did," he sighed, shaking his head. "I dropped the ball pretty hard with her, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm too late."

"It's on the mend," soothed Rose. "She's doing better than she was."

"You mean when she was in the homeless shelter?" snarked Emmett, his sarcasm making Rose bristle. "Yeah, she sure is…"

"You know very well _why_ women end up at my centre…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he snapped. "I understand it, I really do, but that doesn't mean I like it."

"You don't know the _half_ of it," said Rose, her voice a sharp whisper. "Don't you dare sit there, judging her for _that…"_

"Christ, woman, I'm not _judging_ her," said Emmett. The shock in his voice stopped Rose's tirade in its tracks, but her narrowed eyes and pursed lips did not relax. "It just makes no sense."

"How many times have I explained it to you?"

"I'm not asking you to explain it again," said Emmett, taking Rose's face in his hands. "Trust me, babe. I know why it happens. What I don't understand is why it happened to _her."_

"You know…"

"I'm one of the richest men in this city," he said bluntly. "I'm not trying to brag, but it's true. I make more money in one day of filming than most people make in a year."

Rose bit her lip.

"So you explain to me why, if that's the case, that my own sister is living a life like _this."_ His hands left her, and he gestured angrily around the small kitchen.

Rose fell silent.

"I've screwed up," he said, his voice dark and quiet over the sounds of Bella's tears. "I've let that girl down so badly that she doesn't even trust me enough to ask for help when she's almost literally _starving…"_

"Well, she's asking now," soothed Rose. "And you're here."

"She's not asking for anything," said Emmett. "She never has. Christ, I _wish_ she would ask me for something… _anything…_ "

"She _is_ asking," repeated Rose, her head bowed. "Maybe not in the way you think, but the fact that you're here, and that she hasn't asked you to leave, is her way of asking…"

Emmett stared.

"She thinks she's a burden," said Rose bluntly, leaning over to make sure Bella was still on the futon. "She thinks she's needy."

"Needy?" blurted Emmett, his voice growing louder. "How in the _hell…"_

"Shh!" Rose's rebuke was loud. "Please don't yell…"

"I'm _not_ yelling…"

"Yes, you are," said Rose, biting her lip to keep her temper in check. "Just _listen_ to what I'm telling you, and then go and do whatever it was you were going to do."

"I'm going down to the damn Safeway to get her some food," said Emmett quickly, his hands balled into fists. "I don't give a damn who sees me there, either…"

"Listen," said Rose again. "I can't tell you what this all means—I'm no psychiatrist—but I'd hazard a guess and say that the reason she's so upset is because she's afraid."

"Of what?" asked Emmett.

"Of losing the only people left in this world who actually give a shit about her."

"She's not going to…"

"Then prove it to her," said Rose gently. "It seems obvious to me, and it seems obvious to you, but evidently she's scared of driving you away."

"She's done nothing _but_ push me away," he said crossly. "Ever since I got her back, all she's done is keep me at arm's length."

"I know," said Rose. "I really do. There's a lot of healing that needs to be done, and I think tonight is a great place to start, but we have to prove to her that even when she falls down, we're not going to leave her to fend for herself."

"I've already fucked that up," mourned Emmett. "She's already had to pick herself back up so many times..."

"So help her up _this_ time," said Rose. "Show her what you're here for. Show her what a family is _supposed_ to do."

"Yeah," said Emmett, his head bowed. "But first, that girl needs some damn carbs."

"Sure," laughed Rose. "That's a good place to start."

"You'll stay with her?" asked Emmett quietly, slipping into his shoes. "I'll be back in half an hour, tops. Just don't leave her alone, okay?"

"Never," said Rose, inching closer to the living room. "You might be the only biological relation she's got left, but I can tell you right now, you're not her only _family."_

The strange, unfamiliar half-smile that pulled at his lips made Rosalie's heart pound in her chest, though she said nothing more as he slipped out the door.

 **A/N: Thanks for sticking with me! Life has been busy. As always, let me know what you think!**

 **Also, in case you didn't know, I've begun updating my Diamond in the Rough series. Currently, Part 1 is six chapters in to the new version.**


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"We could really use you out front…"

Bella's head snapped up. Staring blinkingly at the little white face poking through the doorway, Bella suddenly became aware of the din and clatter from the busy storefront just outside. She did not know where the time had gone—she had been so focused on her paperwork that she hadn't noticed the hands of the clock slipping towards noon.

"Of course!" She jumped up. "Sorry, Alice. I'm usually already out there by now…"

"No worries. You've been doing good work in here." Alice was always gracious. Normally, she left Bella to her own devices, but come rush hour, Bella knew that she was needed on the register.

Today, as Bella peeked over Alice's shoulder, she could even see Jasper going about his least favourite task—bussing tables. His arms were laden with dirty dishes as he made his way to the kitchen, his face a dark scowl. Bella knew that Alice could see it too—she was watching him with a wide smirk on her face—but when Bella stood to make her way to the front, Alice looked away.

"Where's my apron?"

"Here," said Alice at once, reaching up to the hook on the wall. "Thanks again, Bella. We really appreciate it."

"No problem." She fumbled with the knots. "The lunch rush can't last forever, right?"

"You'd think," chuckled Alice, "but here we go." She stepped aside to let Bella through.

Almost at once, Bella felt the urge to turn and run.

The line of buzzing, chattering customers was almost out the door. She could see the back of Tyler's sweaty neck as he bent over the espresso machine, his nimble fingers flying over buttons and gauges that Bella could never hope to operate. She could see Jasper trying to maneuver through the throng, his arms full of white china dishes, and Alice, returning to work almost at once, beginning to stock the pastry display cabinet.

Bella turned to the first customer in line—a surly-looking woman somewhere near middle age with a face full of caked-on makeup and a pompadour so high that Bella wondered if it wouldn't collapse in on itself. She was tapping her long, red fingernails impatiently on the counter, scowling when Bella met her gaze.

"What can I get you?" Bella tried to put on her best smile. "We've got a fresh pot of…"

"No." Bella bit her lip, her fingers hovering over the register. "Get me one of _those."_ The woman's talon-tipped finger jabbed at one of the fresh bagels Alice had just piled into the display.

"Sure."

"And make it to go."

"Anything else?"

"No." The woman shoved a shiny silver MasterCard at her before she had the chance to ask. Taking it gingerly between her forefinger and thumb, Bella swiped it and handed the woman a pen, catching the signed slip when the woman tossed it back in her face.

Bella wasn't sure she would ever truly enjoy customer service.

"One large macchiato."

"Two strawberry muffins."

"Do you have any scones? No not that one… I need one _without_ flour."

"One hot chocolate, please."

"Small peppermint tea with two sugars, if you don't mind."

"Are your bagels organic?"

"I asked for no poppy seeds!"

"Do you serve alcohol?"

"Corned beef on rye."

"Peppermint tea, please. Two sugars."

"This pickle you gave me is much too small. Can I have another? Also, my sandwich was on the wrong kind of bread… What do you mean you don't have pumpernickel?"

"Can I grab an extra creamer?"

"This sugar bowl is empty!"

"I'm going to need a few trays…"

It was a full hour and a half before Bella had a chance to stop moving and only when the line had dwindled away did she lean against the counter to catch her breath. Poor Tyler had nearly fallen over, exhausted, and Bella had been nothing short of amused when Jasper had returned from the kitchen to take over. Tyler had grunted his thanks before throwing his apron on a shelf underneath the coffee maker, skulking out towards the back door with his cigarettes in hand. The wafting warm air from the sunlit alleyway had made Bella instantly sweaty, but she could not begrudge Tyler his smoke break after so long on his feet.

"Well, that was nuts," said Alice mildly, leaning next to Bella as they surveyed the group of customers still left in the store. There was a group of giggly and noisy teenage girls in a booth along the far wall, a businessman in an expensive suit barking orders into his cellphone, a few of Alice's regulars who were in almost every day, and someone—Bella could only make out a sliver of his face—lurking in a booth just around the corner.

"No kidding," sighed Bella. "Is that normal? I've never seen it get like that…"

"Not particularly," admitted Alice, "but it _is_ raining. And that tends to drive all the foot traffic inside."

"True…" Bella sipped on a plastic cup of ice water. "We're out of almost everything. Are you going to need any help with the baking?"

Just the day before, Alice had begun to teach Bella how to operate the industrial ovens in the back room.

"I think I'm alright," said Alice. "But here's a customer."

Bella's head swiveled around.

She recognized him only vaguely. She was sure he had been here before, slipping in just long enough to mumble an order at the counter and slink away with a drink and a pastry. She did not know who he was—she was not on a first-name basis with him like she was with some of the others—and though she could not be sure exactly _when_ he had come in, she was reasonably certain that he had been to the counter a few times already. It was only when he lifted his eyes to meet hers that she recognized his face as the one from the lone booth around the corner.

"Peppermint tea, please," he said at once, his eyes fixed on her. "With…"

"Two sugars," finished Bella. "I've got you figured out. That'll be your third one in two hours."

The man chuckled nervously.

"Yeah…" He cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"Can I get you anything else?"

"I, um…"

Bella raised an eyebrow. Curiously, Bella saw Alice's sly, mischievous face break into a grin.

"What do you guys have?" stammered the man.

The menu, posted in bright, clean letters above Bella's head, did not seem to faze him. Torn between amusement and incredulity, Bella turned carefully around.

"Well…" She fought to keep the laughter out of her voice. "We've got some muffins, different kinds of scones. There's some cheesecake down at the bottom there. Cookies, bars, squares, sandwiches, soup…"

"Mhm." The man was still staring at her. "What do you recommend?"

"Me?" Bella asked, taken aback. "I don't know… I'm not particularly fussy. I'd eat any of it."

"That's helpful." His voice was mocking. Bella bit her lip and snorted—much more noisily than she had intended. The sound was jarring and obnoxious, but despite her sudden embarrassment, the man seemed amused.

"Nice," he chuckled.

"What?"

"You have a lovely laugh," he teased.

The words washed over her with all the subtlety of a barrage of bricks. Bella knew he was lying—whatever that sound had been, it was far from _lovely—_ but despite the challenge brewing in her face, the man was unperturbed. Her cheeks were hot as he continued to watch her, his mouth drawn into an amused, crooked grin as he saw her fight to regain her bearings. Bella did not like being caught off guard—never mind by a good-looking stranger—and she shook her head to clear the fog.

"Sure. Thanks."

The man was grinning now.

"What's your best seller?" he asked slowly, changing the subject by gesturing to the display cabinet with a long, slender finger. Her embarrassment seemed to have spurred his confidence. "I'm eying that cheesecake, though I'm sure my waistband won't thank me for it later…"

"Chocolate, for sure," said Bella at once, fighting back a strange urge to giggle. "Everyone raves about it."

"Do _you_ rave about it?" he asked.

"Sure," Bella shrugged. "Everyone loves chocolate, right?"

"Right…"

The silence in their wake was awkward. Bella, tapping her ragged fingernails against the keys on the till, looked nervously between the mulling stranger and the green numbers on her register's screen. The man, his lip between his teeth, swept his eyes over the colourful pastry display, glancing up to meet her gaze when he thought she wasn't looking. The longer the silence stretched, the more Bella saw the quick, sudden mischief melting out of him. His shoulders—which he had been holding so tall and proud—began to slouch, and with curious immediacy, he took his eyes away from her face. He was staring at the counter now, and Bella took a quick moment to inventory him. She'd never had a customer act so strangely with her before—she had been well on her guard for strange behaviour ever since the debacle with the magazine article, and she always took careful note of each and every customer who passed by her till. Though he was acting quite strange, Bella thought that he was not like those ravenous, rabid fans of Emmett's who had accosted her so readily for any slip of information regarding her famous brother. Instead, he seemed almost shy—something that Bella found quite peculiar—and when his eyes flickered up to Alice where she stood behind Bella with a wide, amused grin, he seemed to falter.

"I, uh…" He cleared his throat. "I suppose I'll have to try it, then."

"Huh?"

"That one. The chocolate. I mean," he breathed a laugh, "the chocolate cake."

"Oh, right." Bella leaned over to fish a slice from the cabinet. She could see him through the glass, though he was still not looking at her…

"To go?"

"Sure."

Bella grabbed one of the takeout boxes and began to parcel it up.

"Here you go."

"Thanks," he said. "Again."

"You're welcome."

"That'll be nine fifty," chirped Alice suddenly, her teeth sinking into her lip. The man took no notice of her boss, but Bella knew Alice well enough to know that she was holding back a laugh. Her eyes, bright and blue as ever, were flicking between the pair of them like a child watching a game of ping pong, and Bella knew with a sudden sinking in her stomach that Alice would have caught on to their strange interaction.

And in true Alice fashion, Bella was sure she would not let it go.

"Oh, yeah…" The man fished a twenty dollar bill from his jeans. Scooping up his tea along with the box and plastic fork, he spared her only one more glance before he took off towards the door, his head ducked down.

"Hey, wait!" she called, her voice suddenly loud. "Your change!"

"Oh…" The man stopped and turned back around. "Yeah. You keep it."

Bella stared down at the ten dollar bill in mild astonishment.

"No way!"

The man shook his head.

"Thanks again, Coffee Girl." He grinned as he pushed open the front door. "I'll see you around, I'm sure." Alice couldn't hold back her laugh this time as the man slipped quickly out the door, his long legs jogging towards the corner in the crisp, pelting rain.

Bella could only stare after him, the wrinkled ten dollar bill still held out towards the still and empty doorway.

"There you go!" chirped Alice cheerfully, snatching the bill from Bella's limp, outstretched fingers and slipping it into her apron pocket. The two quarters followed soon after, clinking against each other as they settled like a lead weight.

"It's too much," said Bella at once. Her hands dug into her pocket, seeking out the money. "He can't just…"

"Take it," laughed Alice. "Tips are yours to keep. You know that."

"He tipped over fifty percent!" Bella picked the sum from her pocket. "And I was such an _idiot…"_

Since when did she, Bella, get flustered around customers?

"You did fine," laughed Alice. "He obviously enjoyed it."

"I was a moron," Bella sighed. "Honestly…"

"I think _someone's_ got a teeny little crush on you!"

Bella gawped.

"He does not!" she complained, shaking her head. "He doesn't even _know_ me."

"He's a regular. Been coming here weekly for almost two years now," laughed Alice. "Always early in the morning, and always for a small peppermint tea."

"So?"

"So _today_ —the first day I've seen him since you've been back up front, by the way—he sits by himself in the corner and orders all kinds of stuff, only to come back as soon as _you_ come out and pretend like he doesn't know what we sell. That boy knows damn well what we sell … he bought out almost half the store while he was waiting."

"So what?"

" _So,"_ Alice was giggling, "I think that boy's trying to _flirt_ with you. Though I've gotta say… that was one of the most awkward attempts at flirting I've seen since my freshman year of college."

"He was not," scoffed Bella. Refusing to let Alice see her reddened face, Bella snatched up the white cloth from the sink and began to wipe down the crumbs on the counter. She purposely kept her back turned towards Alice, begging the heat in her face to die down.

"Was too," trilled Alice. "Trust me, Bella. I know a flirt when I see one."

"He wasn't flirting," said Bella again. "He was just being nice."

"' _Coffee Girl'?"_ she crowed.

"Stop it," she said, her face red as a beacon. "I was not flirting with Peppermint Guy."

"You even gave him a nickname!" she cried

"Alice!"

"Oh, this is just _perfect!"_ Alice cackled. "I'd wondered when it would happen. Look at you… my little girl's all grown up!" She wiped a fake tear from the corner of her eye.

"Stop it!" Bella could not stop her chuckle. "You're ridiculous sometimes, you know that?"

"Just remember. If you decide to, _you know…"_ Alice made a crude gesture with her hands.

" _Alice!"_

"Safety first!" she crowed. Bella, mortified, could say nothing in return as Alice dissolved into a fit of giggles. Jasper, his quizzical face peering out from the kitchen, looked inquiringly at Bella.

Bella threw the cloth into the sink.

"I'm going for break," she grumbled. "Honestly…"

"Yeah you do that, Coffee Girl," chortled Alice. "Oh, just _wait_ until I tell Jasper!"

Bella groaned, slipping away into the office.

* * *

"Alice, _no!"_

"Get out to the register," she hissed. "He's right _there!"_

"Jasper's got it!" whispered Bella, flattening herself against the far wall. The office door was open, and Bella knew that the customers could see in. If he leaned back _just_ far enough, she was sure he would catch her hiding…

"Go on!"

"It's not even that busy..."

"Oh, get going!" Even when she whispered, Alice was loud. "I'm your boss, and that's an order."

"Damn it, Alice…" Bella complained, peeking her head out of the office to gaze towards the storefront. "I swear to God…"

"If you go now, it won't look weird!" she reasoned. Her hands were on Bella's shoulders, steering her towards her apron hanging on a hook. "There's still a few customers before him…"

"I have no desire to make an ass of myself again today. I did enough of that yesterday," insisted Bella. "Seriously. Let Jasper handle it."

"It's not _Jasper_ he's here to see!"

"No, he's here to get tea," said Bella at once. "And maybe cake."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," she cackled. "Come on. He's cute…"

"That's irrelevant!" hissed Bella. "I don't care if he looks like a Grecian God!"

"Oh yes you do," dismissed Alice. "Get out there and run that register like you own it."

" _You_ own it!"

"Go, Bella." Alice was laughing now. "Never mind being so mopey. It's only natural for a girl your age to start noticing boys…"

"Oh _shut up!"_ Bella could not help but laugh. Alice was nearly dancing with glee—she obviously derived some kind of perverse pleasure from watching Bella suffer—and when Bella slouched out of the office, she could have sworn she heard Alice clap.

"Oh great, Bella…" Jasper was suddenly chipper. "Can you take the register? Tyler's due for a break, and I've got to get down to the station in about half an hour..."

"Sure, Jasper," said Bella. She knew damn well that Jasper did _not_ have to be down at the station today—he never agreed to work behind the counter unless he knew his afternoon was free. He was privy to Alice's plot—of that she was sure—and she glared so hotly at him as he slipped away that he ducked his head.

 _What a pair of busybodies._

Bella did not look down the line as she served coffee, though from the corner of her eye she could see Peppermint Guy staring. She had noticed him almost as soon as he had entered the shop—his shoulders were slumped, as usual, and his ruddy hair was a mess. She was surprised to see him in something other than a hoodie—Alice had told her that he was a college student, and all Bella had ever seen him wear was an oversized UCLA sweatshirt and some worn blue jeans. As she turned to retrieve a bagel—she refused to look directly at him—she caught sight of a tucked-in button-down and shiny black shoes.

"Hey, Coffee Girl." Bella steeled herself at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, you." Alice, grinning foolishly, had her eyes fixed on the pair of them from her seat behind the office desk. Bella bit her tongue, resisting the urge to call her out.

"I, uh…"

Bella waited. The pink flush on his neck made her want to laugh.

"The cake was really good," he stammered out all at once.

"I'm glad you liked it," she said, reaching over to the stack of small cups to pull one out. Remembering what she was here for—she was at work, for crying out loud—she plopped a peppermint tea bag into the cup and filled it slowly with water from the spigot.

"Yeah…" He ran his hand through his hair as Bella added two sugars. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"So…" Bella bit the inside of her cheek—she did not know where she should look. The guy was watching her again—Bella did not even know his name—and the longer he stared, the more awkward she became. There were no customers behind him and the tea, steeping silently in its paper cup, sat between them emitting puffs of white, cloudy steam. Bella saw the man begin to fidget and she fought the urge to do the same. Only when he reached out and began to toy with the string hanging over the rim of the cup, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, did Bella force herself to speak.

"You lost your hoodie," she said lamely.

He perked up.

"Oh, yeah… You noticed."

It was her turn to blush.

"Yeah."

"I don't usually dress so…" he grimaced, "…plain."

"No?"

"When I first got here, I only had my suitcase."

"Got here?" Bella was puzzled.

"I'm from Washington," he said quickly, turning the cup around in his hands. "Seattle."

Bella's stomach jumped. The sound of her old city brought with it the curious mix of nostalgia and anxiety that had been her near-constant companion since she'd arrived in California. Her mouth went dry as she drew her lip between her teeth, her mind fixed on the distant overcast skies she knew all too well. She wondered suddenly if it was raining.

"Yeah?" Her voice cracked.

"I come here every year at the end of summer for school," he said quickly. "I stay with my aunt and uncle, but the airline charges so much for extra bags that I only ever bring one. My parents finally shipped the rest down, so…"

Bella nodded.

"Anyways…" His sudden grimace was almost comical.

"You probably don't care about my bags," he muttered, shaking his head. "I mean…"

Bella shrugged, a hint of a smile on her face.

"So…" He began to shift back and forth. "Are you…?"

"Break time, Bella!" called Alice suddenly, poking her head out from the office. "Go and take your fifteen." Peppermint Guy's froze on the spot, his nervous fidgeting turning into stunned stillness. She saw his eyes widen—whether in surprise or anticipation, she could not tell.

When Alice giggled, Bella could have smacked her.

"Sure thing, Alice." As she began to toy with the knots holding her apron together—why could she not tie bows like a normal person?—she spoke to the curious bystander.

"Be right back," she breathed. "Just have to go and…"

"Yeah," he said. "Go ahead. I'll be right here."

 _Would he, now?_

Bella scrambled back into the office, tossing her apron onto the desk. Alice leaned back, her hands wrapped tightly around the arms of the rolling chair. Bella stared at her for a long moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took in Alice's bright, chipper glee.

"You're a real pill sometimes, you know that?" she growled. Alice looked giddy. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing!" Her face was angelic. "Go and have a seat with Peppermint Guy. Take your time."

"I swear to God, Alice…"

"Nothing wrong with a little romance!"

"Oh for God's sake…" Exasperated would have been an understatement.

Alice only laughed.

"Go!" she said, shooing Bella out of the office. "It won't hurt to get to know him and who knows? Maybe you'll like each other."

Bella only _just_ resisted the urge to slam the office door behind her. Sometimes it was difficult to remember exactly where she was when she was at work—Alice was her boss, after all, and while the two of them had become something like friends, Bella would always be cognizant of the fact that the power to fire her lay solely in Alice's little hands. And no matter how much she may want to, Bella could not go around insulting her boss.

"Hey," said the man. "You want to have a seat?"

"Sure," sighed Bella. Butterflies erupted in her stomach—who exactly was this stranger?

"Over in the corner?" she suggested, pointing to the empty booth he had occupied the day before.

"That's my favourite," smiled the man. "But wait."

"What?" Bella stopped.

"What do you drink?" he asked. "I've got _my_ tea, but…"

"Don't worry about me," said Bella at once, mortified at the thought of this stranger buying her anything. "Really..."

"Nonsense," he said easily. "What does she drink, Mr. Whitlock?"

"Here you go, Bella," said Jasper at once, making Bella cringe as he offered her a cup of fruity raspberry tea. "Enjoy." Before Bella could fish some lonely coins from her pocket, Peppermint Guy was handing Jasper a crisp ten dollar bill.

"Thanks, Jasper," sighed Bella. She knew Jasper could see the distaste on her face.

"No worries." She turned to the stranger.

"Thanks… I don't know your name."

She could hardly call him _Peppermint Guy_ to his face.

"Edward," said the man smoothly. "And don't worry about it. It's my pleasure."

"Well, thanks Edward," she said. The name was strange on her tongue. "Shall we sit?"

"Ladies first."

Bella slid carefully into the booth, careful not to spill any hot tea on herself or on the handsome man in front of her.

"So…"

"So," echoed Bella. Nervous laughter bubbled up in her chest. "What made you want to sit with me?"

"Seriously?" blurted the man.

Bella shrugged.

"Yeah."

"Colour me curious," said Edward.

"About me?" Bella sipped her tea.

"Yeah, about you," he said.

"Oh."

Edward laughed.

"I live nearby, which is why I'm always here," said Edward quickly. "My aunt and uncle have a condo just three blocks away," he pointed vaguely east, "and so I've established my own little neighbourhood haunts."

"What does your uncle do?"

"He's a doctor," said Edward easily. "But what about you?"

"What about me?" asked Bella, sipping her tea again. "What are you curious about?"

"Well…" Edward laughed. "I think your name would be a good start."

Bella snorted, nearly choking on her drink.

"Bella," she stammered, coughing. "Sorry."

"Bella…" He was smiling now. "Thanks."

"You're welcome?"

He chuckled.

"Your turn."

"Turn?"

"Ask me something else," he suggested. "Whatever you want to know."

"Why UCLA?"

"Med school," he shrugged. "My dad wanted me to go into law, but he was happy enough when I settled on medicine."

"Nice," said Bella, impressed. "You almost finished?"

"God no," he sighed. "Still doing my Bachelor's."

"In what?"

"Biology," he smirked. "But now it's my turn. You've asked three in a row."

Obligingly, Bella fell silent.

"Where are you from?"

"Seattle," said Bella, only a little reluctant.

"No shit?" Edward sat back. "What are the odds of that? What high school?"

"Franklin," said Bella at once.

"West Seattle," said Edward.

"I think we used to play you," said Bella. "I was never into it, but I'm sure there was some football rivalry there."

"Definitely," laughed Edward. "I was the high school quarterback."

"No kidding," smirked Bella. "I can kind of see it…"

 _His shoulders are broad enough,_ she thought, _and he certainly isn't lacking any muscle._

"If I keep eating that cake you won't," chuckled Edward. "But enough of that. Ask me another one."

The twinkle in his eyes made her cheeks glow pink.

"You want one more or do you want me to go again?" asked Bella

"You," he said, "but only _one_ this time."

"Sure…" she grinned. "Favourite colour?"

"Blue," said Edward at once. "What made you move to L.A.?"

"That's a long story," sighed Bella, shaking her head. "Maybe another day."

"If you say so."

"Go again," she said indulgently. "Since I copped out."

"Where have I seen you before?" asked Edward suddenly. As quickly as her nerves had disappeared they were suddenly flaring up again, and she fought back the urge to slink away. She cringed at the memory of her old photograph that had graced all kinds of newscasts and tabloids…

"Probably on the cover of a magazine," she said softly. "My brother wasn't exactly subtle."

"Your brother?" Edward looked confused. "What…?"

When the realization hit him, Bella wondered if his eyes wouldn't bulge out of his head.

"Shit…" he said, sitting back in his seat. His tea, forgotten and lukewarm, was pushed aside as he stared at her for several long breaths, shaking his head quickly when Bella looked away.

"Sorry," he said at once. "I didn't mean to make it weird…"

"It's fine," sighed Bella. "Emmett thought I was missing."

"You _were_ missing," countered Edward. "I saw the newscast—only briefly, mind you—but…"

"But I'm found now," finished Bella. "So that's that."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "Is it my turn?"

"Yeah."

"Favourite animal?"

"Dog," said Edward at once. The tension of the previous question all but melted away with that one word. "I'm lucky that my aunt and uncle let me bring mine with me."

"You've got a dog?" Bella couldn't help the sudden whine in her voice. She had always loved dogs… not that she had ever owned one.

"Yeah," laughed Edward. "A mastiff."

"What's his name?"

"Bumble," admitted Edward, and Bella was pleased to see his neck turn pink again. "It wasn't my idea, so don't ask."

"I just might," she teased. "But it's your turn."

"You have any pets?"

"No," said Bella. "None. My dad wouldn't have let me."

"Ah."

"Where are your parents?" asked Bella.

"Back in Seattle," he said easily. "How much longer do you have on your break?"

"Shit…" Bella glanced down at her watch. "I'm due back in two minutes."

"That's enough time," said Edward quickly. "I'll end with my last question."

"Shoot."

"Next time I come, will you spend your lunch break with me?"

Bella stared.

"No pressure," he said at once. "I know I'm kind of awkward and all…"

"Sure." The word escaped her with almost startling voracity. "Sure. I'll eat lunch with you."

"You work next Wednesday?" asked Edward.

"Yep." Her face was red again.

"Great," he smiled. "It's a date, Miss Bella."

"Oh… kay." He smirked at her, offering her a gentlemanly hand to help her out of the booth. In true Bella fashion, she stumbled over her own feet before she righted herself, letting the chuckling man hand her the remnants of her tea in the nearly empty paper cup.

"Enjoy the rest of your week," he said. "I'll see you around."

"Thanks again for the drink."

"Don't mention it." He winked as he opened the glass front door. "And don't let Alice work you too hard."

"I won't," she smiled.

"See you Wednesday."

"Bye."

Bella ignored the look of smug satisfaction on Alice's face as she returned to the office to resume work on the inventory spreadsheet.

* * *

"So a little birdie told me you've got a man friend," said Emmett suddenly, his eyes fixed purposefully on the dark, glistening asphalt. Bella felt her face grow hot—exactly how many people had Alice told?—but she refused to let her brother see her sudden discomfort.

"You mean _Rosalie_ told you," she sniffed. "I should have known."

"Aw, don't be mad, Bell," he chuckled. "She really didn't mean to."

"Oh, I'm not mad at _her_ ," said Bella at once. "It's Alice and her big mouth that are on my shit list."

Emmett guffawed.

"It was nice to hear," he said easily. "I like hearing good news about you, Bella."

"I know," she sighed.

"I mean, you're a grown woman. It's only natural that you'd want to explore _that_ kind of social life, especially given the short leash dad kept you on for so many years."

"Emmett…" Bella could not keep the disapproval out of her voice. It had been weeks since he had taken her aside and told her that the way Charlie had treated her was not normal, but ever since then he took every possible opportunity to remind her of it.

It was almost as if he thought that if he _didn't_ remind her, she might forget.

Her brother did not respond. The silence in the car—once an omen of things left unsaid—was not oppressive or obtrusive anymore. Bella found that she quite enjoyed driving with her brother—the ride from her dingy apartment to his spacious home was a pleasant one, and when someone else was driving, she was able to take in the sights and sounds she was otherwise forced to ignore. She did not know how it could be that after months in California she was still enthralled by swaying coconut trees, or how she found beauty in the pink and crimson sunsets that overtook the horizon almost every night. Even now, staring at the tall, grey buildings of downtown Los Angeles, Bella was struck by the beauty of scintillating lights, of neon signs flashing and mega-screens glowing hot. The ground outside was wet, a product of the afternoon showers that had barraged the city, and the reflections in the puddles were dazzling.

"What on earth are you looking at?" laughed Emmett, taking a moment to watch her as she stared through the window. "Are you so tired that you're going to fall asleep on me?"

"No," she sighed. "I just think it's pretty."

"What's pretty?

"The lights," said Bella easily.

"They're bright," complained Emmett—he had always been a country boy.

"Yeah," shrugged Bella. "But _look_ at it."

"I am," dismissed Emmett. "I much prefer the dark and quiet at my place. It's cleared up now. You'll be able to stargaze on the back porch, if you want to…"

Bella laughed.

"You invited Rose over for a reason," she said. "I'm not about to ditch the two of you so I can go and look at the moon."

"You do whatever you want," said Emmett indulgently. "Far be it from me to order you around…"

 _Not like dad did,_ finished Bella in her head.

Silence.

"Are you really not mad?" asked Emmett suddenly, his voice going quiet. "I know you said you're not, but…"

"No," said Bella at once. "It's really none of my business what either of you do…"

"I know," he said, "but I'd hate to think that something I'm doing might throw a wrench in what we've got going."

"No," said Bella again, shaking her head. "Not at all. Rose is awesome and you're my brother. Of course I can't complain."

"She was yours before she was mine," said Emmett quickly. "She'll always be yours first."

Bella snorted.

"Honestly… the way the two of you talk you'd think I was your kid or something."

"No," Emmett hastened to correct himself. "No, it's not like that..."

"I know," she laughed. "I'm just teasing."

"Rose was afraid you'd feel betrayed," he said. "She wanted to tell you first thing, but I wanted to be the one to do it."

"I get it."

"I was worried you'd be angry."

"Well I'm not," she said simply. "So you're good."

In truth, Bella did not know _how_ she felt about this sudden and startling bit of news. The way her brother had pulled her aside and spoken in such solemn, somber tones—Bella had wondered if someone had died (though _who_ , she could not fathom). He had looked so frightened in the silence of the car, so anxious to break the great, terrible, _awful_ news that seemed to plague him…

" _I've been seeing Rosalie,"_ he had stammered quickly. Bella had stared unblinkingly at him.

" _Okay…"_

" _For about a month."_

He had stared at her then, his eyes roving over her face for a sign of something— _anything._

" _Okay."_

" _Are you mad?"_

" _Is that all?" she asked, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. "The way you're staring at me…"_

" _Yeah, that's all," he said quickly. "What else were you expecting?"_

" _From the way you hauled me in here and the look on your face, I was expecting someone to be dead."_

" _No," he said quickly. "I just…"_

" _Just had to tell me that you're seeing Rosalie," she finished lamely. "And that's it."_

" _And that's it."_

" _And you expected me to be mad?"_

" _Kind of…" he hedged. "I was expecting…_ something."

"It was rather anticlimactic, really," said Emmett suddenly, breaking her from her musings. "I mean, Rosalie said you'd be okay, but…"

"Smart woman," murmured Bella. "You should listen to her more often."

"Yeah, well…"

"I know." Bella did not have a good history with news that came from Emmett, and while she was relieved that it was nothing more serious, she knew she had only herself to blame for her brother's anxious delivery.

"You'd tell me if it were different, right?"

"Yes," said Bella truthfully.

"You sure?"

"Yes," she said again. "I made a little promise to myself after that fiasco at my place last week."

Emmett grimaced—the surly protectiveness that had reared its ugly head the week before had not quite died down. This was the third time in a week that Emmett had stopped by the coffee shop after Bella's shift to drag her to his place for supper. Her protests against this new routine had not been helped by the fact that her brother had made her plight known to Leah, who had chewed her out for being proud and foolish. The morning after their long and arduous night in Bella's apartment Emmett had all but forced her into his car, driven her to his house, and plopped her unceremoniously at his gleaming kitchen table.

Leah had not taken no for an answer when Bella had protested the masses of food she had prepared. That morning, the kind-hearted woman had fed her everything from pancakes and bacon, to eggs, toast, oatmeal, and fruit.

Only the threat of sickness had stopped her from forcing Bella to eat a third plate, and though Leah graciously let her nap on the living room sofa, she had woken her promptly at noon to force a bacon sandwich down her throat.

"And what would that be?" asked Emmett, his voice clipped. Bella knew he was still angry with her—he had always hated her stubborn pride—but she hoped that her new resolution would appease him.

"I promised myself that I wouldn't lie," she said simply. "Not about things that matter."

"Yeah?" Emmett lightened up. "That's good."

"No more lying to you," she continued, "and more importantly, no more lying to _myself."_

"Good."

"Yeah."

The pair were silent until Emmett pulled in to his yard, leaning out the window to punch the code into the automated security system. Bella paid no mind to the numbers as the gate swung open, allowing Emmett just enough space to creep forward with his car. In the driveway, Bella saw the familiar red BMW that could only belong to one person, and when she looked up at the big picture window, she saw Rose's blonde head peeking over the back of a sofa.

"She's scared you're going to be mad," warned Emmett carefully. "So do me a favour and smile, okay?"

"Sure," she laughed, shaking her head. "But she should know better."

"Yeah, well… I suppose it's a matter of history. We don't exactly have the best track record."

"Yeah... Hey!"

Before she could say another word, she was startled into silence by Emmett's sudden, tight grip on her hand.

"What…?"

"Let's go!" He began a quick walk towards the front door, leaving Bella to jog behind him. Protesting this sudden change—there was a darkly familiar look of mischief on Emmett's face—Bella could only stumble awkwardly behind as he led her through the door.

"Look, Rose, we're holding hands!" cried Emmett, jostling Bella as they made their way inside. Bella grimaced, trying to tug her hand free, but he refused to let go until they stood side-by-side, facing a nervous-looking Rosalie.

"What on Earth…?"

"See?" Emmett waved their joined hands towards her. "She's all good." He kissed her roughly on the temple. Bella grimaced and squirmed.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go, you big lug," she complained, jerking her hand away. "You're going to leave a bruise."

"Whoops. Sorry kiddo."

Bella rubbed at her fingers, scowling.

"She's not mad, babe!"

"I see that."

"Hey Rose."

"Hi Bella." For the first time in since Bella had known her, Rosalie was not the assertive, confident woman she'd grown to love. Instead she was quiet—almost _too_ quiet—and thoughtful. For what might have been the first time in Bella's memory, Rosalie was almost _timid._

"Scared of me, Rose?" she teased, abandoning her brother in the doorway to give Rose a hug. Rose's firm grip on her back was comforting and familiar. "I can start shouting, if that will make you feel better."

"No," chuckled Rose, leaning her chin on Bella's shoulder. "I'm sorry we waited so long."

"Nah…" Rose's words made Bella's stomach squirm. "It's fine."

"I wanted to tell you sooner," she continued, "but Emmett wanted to be the one to say it. And you guys were so rocky…"

"I get it," said Bella at once. "We don't have the best track record, and I haven't exactly been honest myself…"

"You're okay?" asked Rose softly. "Because if there's an issue…"

"No," said Bella at once. "No issue. Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"You look mad..."

"Not at you."

Rose raised an eyebrow, her gaze flickering worriedly to Emmett.

"No, not me either," chuckled Emmett. "Apparently she's pissed at your sister-in-law. She told me Alice is on her 'shit list'."

"For what?" laughed Rose, the nervousness melting away. "What did she do?"

"Opened her big fat mouth, that's what," scowled Bella.

"Oh, the coffee shop date!" said Rose.

"Ugh…

"She means well," hastened Rose. "She told me all about how she got Jasper to go along with it..."

"Yeah, and don't think I didn't notice," said Bella at once. "I mean, come on!"

"Alice can be a little much..."

"She's a busybody," growled Bella passionately. "She's lucky I like her."

Rose barked a laugh.

"Alice has a uniquely singular way of worming her way into other people's business," admitted Rose. "She's always been that way. I'm just glad she's a good person. Alice hasn't got a mean bone in her body—and God help us if she ever finds one."

"No," agreed Bella. "You're right there."

"If it's really bothering you, I can let her know…"

"No," sighed Bella. "I suppose she did save me the hassle of explaining it on my own. Though I really wish she'd let it go..."

"I know..."

"She's just lucky she's cute," grumbled Bella, shaking her head. "Sometimes I wonder about her…"

"Come and eat!" Emmett shouted from the dining room. "Leah left us a lasagna, ladies, and if you're not quick, you ain't getting _any."_

"What a pig," scoffed Rose. "Have you seen that man eat? He's nice and all, but sometimes I wonder…"

The plateful of food that Emmett had already begun to pick at was so generous that even Bella, who was familiar with his habits, had to stop and stare.

"I'm a growing boy. Don't judge me," said her brother through a mouthful of food. "Sit and eat. It's getting cold."

* * *

"Bye, Rose."

"See you later, Bella. Thanks for dinner, Em."

The nickname made Bella smirk.

"I'll see you later, Rose," said Emmett. "I'll call you tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Drive safely." He kissed her cheek—Bella looked tactfully away—before Rose slipped quietly through the door.

There was silence in the great, spacious house as Emmett and Bella stood and faced the window. They watched as Rose's tall, blonde head ducked its way into her red car, the rumble of the engine barely audible through the thick walls. Emmett had his hand on the security panel—he had opened the gate for her not five minutes previously—and the pair of them watched as her lights disappeared through the gate, growing smaller and smaller as the car rumbled out of sight.

"Want to sit?"

Bella started.

"Sure."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Bella, accepting the hand he laid on her shoulder as he led her through to the living room.

"Sit," urged Emmett. "Here…"

He tucked a knitted afghan around her feet, sitting himself down close enough for her to lean against his side.

"You good?"

"I'm fine," she said again, offering him a smile. "What makes you ask?"

"You look quiet."

"I _look_ quiet?" she queried, laughing. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "You just seem…pensive."

"I'm _fine."_

"Okay."

She rested her head on his shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," said Bella quickly, drawing her feet in a little closer. "I'm just…"

His hand began to play in her hair. She had always loved this—she knew he would remember from their youth—and she did not protest as he began to draw his thick fingers through some of the tangles and knots. As children Emmett had often told her she was part cat—that their absentee mother had really been a feral feline—and to egg her on when she grew angry, he would often tease her with loud, obnoxious meowing.

Though tonight, he held his peace.

"You're just what?" he prompted gently. "You've gone quiet on me."

"I'm just… tired," she finished lamely.

Her statement was not a lie. This evening in her brother's house, surrounded by the laughter of the two people she adored most in the world, had brought with it the sudden realization that there was an immutable poignancy to the experience of love. When she was alone in her little apartment, Bella did not often feel this way. She was so often preoccupied with matters of finance or routine that she did not give herself time to recharge, to _think_. To think was to worry, and to worry was to despair. If she thought too hard about the situation she had created for herself, she would inevitably grow painfully hopeless and downtrodden. It was not an easy thing, being alone, and it was on nights like these, when she found herself in the company of family, that she began to wonder whether or not she had made the right choice.

"You want to go home?" asked Emmett gently, his fingers caressing her scalp. "If you're tired, I can drive you…"

"No," said Bella at once, shaking her head. "Not yet."

"Okay."

She cuddled in a little closer.

"What's up with you?" asked Emmett worriedly, lifting his arm to wrap it around her. "You're… off."

"Nothing," sighed Bella again, closing her eyes. "I'm just tired. And I miss this."

"Miss what?" His gentle hand stopped its course through her hair.

"I don't know," she said. _"This."_

Her brother pursed his lips.

"Are you overworking yourself?" he asked cautiously, glancing down at her serene, pale face. "Is that what's going on?"

"No more than usual," shrugged Bella. "But I'm _fine_ , Em. Just a little nostalgic, I guess…"

"How so?"

"It's been a while since I had dinner like that."

"Lasagna?" Emmett teased. "I know Leah's a good cook, but…"

"No, you goof," laughed Bella. "I mean the company."

"Rose?"

"And you."

"Huh."

"What?" Bella carefully sat herself up.

"Nothing," smiled Emmett. "I'm just glad to hear you say that you enjoyed yourself."

"Of course I did."

"But you do confuse me sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"How can you be nostalgic?" he asked. "This is literally the first time you and Rose have been here at the same time."

"Not for the _specifics,"_ sighed Bella. "I suppose it's more… the atmosphere."

"Do tell."

"It's been a while," said Bella softly, tucking her head back under his arm. "I don't usually…"

"What?"

"It's nice to spend time with family," she said quickly, her voice low and gentle.

"Oh Bella…"

"Don't," she said at once, hearing the sudden sadness in his voice. "Don't go getting all weepy…"

Emmett said nothing.

"You know you're welcome here anytime, right?" He spoke after a long, penetrating silence. "I mean that."

"I know."

"You don't need to wait for an invitation?"

"I know," said Bella again, though this time the words made her sad. She was not that kind of person—she would never be one to simply drop in, unannounced, on _anyone's_ busy life.

"I hope you do," he said quietly. "Because let me tell you… all of this?" He gestured around his vast, empty house. "This is meaningless without _you."_

He pointed at her.

"If I've learned anything over the years, it's that it doesn't matter how much _stuff_ you have. I could buy ten houses, or a boat, or a jet… but none of it would be able to do what _this_ does. And _this,"_ he squeezed her a little tighter, "is free."

Bella bit her lip.

"So believe me when I say, Bell, that there is nothing more valuable to me than what we've been rebuilding."

Sniffing, she leaned up and pressed a wet kiss to his stubbly cheek.

"And here you were, telling _me_ not to get weepy," he teased, fishing a tissue from the box on the coffee table. "Here."

She dabbed idly at her face.

"Thank you for not giving up," said Bella softly, clearing her throat as she tried to speak. "Thank you for giving me more chances than I deserve."

"You deserve anything and everything I could give you," said Emmett at once. "And it kills me every day that you won't _let_ me."

"I'll be fine."

"I know you will be," said Emmett easily. "I won't let _anything_ happen to you. But you're going to have to promise me something."

"What?" She heard him sigh.

"I need you to promise me that you're going to find some way to be happy," he said finally.

"I am happy," she protested.

"I don't think so," said Emmett. "When you came here, you had nothing. You lacked even the basic necessities that every person—no matter where they come from—should have. You can't be happy without basic necessities, but those basics don't necessarily equal happiness."

Bella blinked.

"You've got a home, a job, some friends... _food."_ She looked away as the word dug in. "I just want you to promise me that you're going to find some way to make yourself _happy._ That's all I want for you—whatever that means."

"I will," she said at once, her teeth sinking into her lip. "I'm on my way, Emmett. I just need to figure out a few things before I get there."

He didn't say anything in response, but instead began to run his hand through her hair again.

"I love you."

"I love you too," she said. "Thanks for giving me a chance."

"There's nothing to thank me for."

"You could have said no," she said at once. The thought made her cringe. "You could have gone on with your life just as you were before..."

"No, I couldn't have." He shook his head.

"You didn't _have_ to love me."

He froze when she spoke, the muscles of his arms tightening around her. Bella felt his tension—could almost _see_ the way her words saddened him—but when he slipped his arm around her back to hug her properly, she let herself relax into his embrace.

"You're my baby sister, Bella," said Emmett softly. "Of course I'd give you a chance. I don't think there's anything you could do that would stop me from loving you."

The words warmed her.

"I wish you could see that," he mourned quietly. "I don't know how else to tell you…"

"I'm getting there," she murmured, her face hidden in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"And I'm really _not_ mad about Rosalie," she said suddenly, picking her head back up. "I know you still think I am…"

"You're still my best girl, Bella."

"Don't quote _Titanic_ at me," she teased, poking him in the chest. "She might be Rose, but you're no Leo…"

"Ouch!"

Bella laughed and yawned, closing her eyes.

"Stay the night," said Emmett quickly, his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. It was already past midnight. "I'll take you home first thing, if you want…"

"Okay," she agreed. Something in her was glad at the thought—she could not stay awake much longer, that much was certain, but neither was she ready to leave her brother's company. Just now, she thought she would be perfectly happy to sit on the sofa with him for the rest of time, letting his gentle hand run through her hair and his earnest, caring words ring true in her mind…

"Come on," he said. "I'll put you back where you were last time. Leah changed the sheets just yesterday, so it's all nice and fresh for you."

"Thanks."

"And I'll find you some clothes. I know Rose left a pair of sweatpants around here somewhere…"

The redness on Emmett's face made her laugh and she accepted the offer with as much grace as she could muster. Rose would not mind sharing—Bella knew that much— but something in her was staunchly refusing to acknowledge just _why_ Rose had felt it necessary to take her pants off in Emmett's house.

 _Gross._

 **A/N: My sincere apologies for the delay. I did not mean to neglect this story, but I got caught up editing** ** _A Diamond in the Rough_** **and it somehow fell to the wayside. Combine that with my 2-week practice teaching placement (out of town and very busy), and my writing time has been quite limited. I hope Edward's introduction helped make up for it (though remember, this will not be a romance-centric story).**

 **Stay tuned for the next update- we will be shifting gears as things begin to heat up once more. Some of you have guessed/inquired about next chapter's action already, but I think even those of you who have guessed will enjoy the next instalment!**

 **As always, let me know what you think!**


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The night was unusually crisp.

Sitting on the old, rotting bench on the curb next to the bus stop, Bella bounced her knee, her fists curled in the pocket of her hoodie. The sky was dark—the sun had slipped away some hours ago while she was serving antsy, chilly customers in Alice's shop and though she knew the sky was clear, she could not see any stars. The moon was new—not even the faint, white glow of its halo was visible through the artificial light of the city—and though she bathed in the orange haze from the streetlight above her head, the Stygian space between this light and the next was unsettling.

The darkness frightened her. When she sat like she was now, alone as she faced the black alleyway right across the road, she couldn't help but shiver. Somehow, she felt that this was worse than being immersed in darkness. The rational part of her pointed out that there was nothing to be afraid of—that she was far safer in the wan light of the streetlamp than she could ever be in the alleyway itself. _But_ , she reminded herself, _she had slept many a-night in places just like that one, and nothing untoward had happened then_. She had slept under boxes, behind dumpsters, and under heaps of trash, always afraid to be found by those unsavoury men who sought her. She hated being an outsider to the darkness—a sitting duck to be claimed by the monsters that could be lurking just out of sight. If she sat in the light, _they_ could see _her,_ but _she_ could not see _them._

It did not help that the fantastical part of her brain—the one that often wondered just what kinds of demons loomed in the shadows—had awoken in full force. _This city is huge_ , it reminded her— _much bigger than Seattle, where she grew up_. She knew that even in the best parts of the city every good, benevolent citizen could be contrasted with a skulking, ill-intentioned one. If she squinted hard enough, forcing her eyes to focus on the penetrating darkness between the bank and the sandwich shop, she fancied she could make out vague shapes. What if that was a person, standing in the shadows just out of sight? What if it was a _man?_ What if that man could see her? What if that man _wanted_ to see her? What if he was a kidnapper, or a rapist, or a murderer…

Biting her lip and stilling her bouncing leg, Bella glanced anxiously up and down the deserted street for any sign of her bus.

 _You're being silly,_ she thought. _There's no one out there. You're fine._

Still, she could not keep her gaze away from the lurking darkness.

How she wished she had her truck…

" _Uh… Alice?"_

" _Yeah Bell?"_

" _Do you know who's parked in the alleyway?"_

" _What's that, B?" Alice's hands were full of dirty mugs and her arms were laden with a heavy, tottering tray. Bella took the tray of bowls from her before Alice could drop them._

" _The alleyway," she repeated, leaping away when Alice went to snatch the tray back. "I just went out to bring my purse to my truck, and there's some big thing parked in the entrance."_

" _No…" Alice turned into the kitchen. "Is it_ his?" _She jerked her head towards the old man seated in the window chair—the one who had come in two minutes before closing and was refusing to leave until he had finished his scone._

" _No," said Bella quickly. "I don't think so…"_

" _I don't know," shrugged Alice. "But you can go anytime, hon. You were supposed to be gone half an hour ago."_

" _I can't get out," laughed Bella, depositing the tray on the counter in the kitchen. "Whoever it is, they're wedged in pretty tight."_

 _"Wedged in?"_

 _"Tight," confirmed Bella. Alice grimaced, her hands on her hips._

" _Who would...?" Alice trailed off, shaking her head as she marched towards the back door. She wrenched it open, shivering when the cool air hit her._

" _Oh damn," she groused at once, slipping back inside as the door slammed shut. "I'm sorry, Bella. I forgot to tell you…"_

" _What?"_

" _It's the street sweeper," she said irritably. "They come every quarter, and the jackass responsible for our section always parks the damn thing right in my way. It delays my shipments every time, too, so I guess I'll have to reorganize that in the morning…"_

" _Shit," said Bella, leaning back against the counter. "I guess I'm not getting out until tomorrow, then…"_

" _I'll drive you home," said Alice at once. "Just as soon as_ this _one decides to leave." She pursed her lips as she peeked over Bella's shoulder, eying the straggler._

" _No," said Bella at once. "No, Alice, my place is a good twenty minutes out of your way…"_

" _Nonsense." Alice brushed her off. "It's my fault I didn't tell you… if I had, you would've been gone by now."_

" _No," said Bella again. "I'll take the bus. I don't mind."_

" _It's dark," complained Alice._

" _I know," laughed Bella. "It's past 10, and surprisingly, I've noticed that it gets dark_ every _night."_

" _Ha ha, smart ass," she grumbled, shaking her head when the old man began to rise. "Just give me about ten minutes to get this stuff in the dishwasher, and then we'll go…"_

" _No," said Bella again. "It's no big deal… I can grab the bus. It'll be here in twenty minutes."_

" _I don't like to send you out into the dark on your own," frowned Alice. "I don't let any of the others do it…"_

" _I'm not afraid of the dark," Bella lied. "And besides… Tyler leaves for the bus every night after dark and no one stops him."_

" _Tyler outweighs you at least double," scoffed Alice. "Really, Bella. If anyone tried anything with Tyler, they'd be the ones getting an ass kicking."_

" _No one's getting an ass kicking," said Bella._

" _You don't know that…"_

" _I'll be_ fine, _Alice," chuckled Bella. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."_

" _Are you sure?"_

" _Positive," said Bella. She reached into her purse and pulled out a golden bus token. "See? I'm all good. Will that sweeper be out of there by morning?"_

" _Should be," sighed Alice. "I really am sorry, Bella. I should have warned you when you started parking back there…"_

 _Bella, in all her anxious worrying, had taken to parking in the alleyway rather than the café's little parking lot so her truck would not be recognized by any of Emmett's crazed fans. The attention had died down some, but that was all she needed—for some lunatic to recognize her distinctive vehicle and follow her home._

She wished the bus would come.

Keeping her eyes away from the blackness all around her, Bella began fidgeting with the metal coin in her pocket. She turned it over in her hands, wishing she had something to occupy her mind as she sat, unnerved, and suddenly wishing she hadn't turned Alice away. She hated putting Alice out—she already did so much for Bella that she didn't have to do—and while Bella knew she would have felt guilty taking the ride, she was starting to think that it was preferable to the worry and unease she was feeling now.

When the bus rounded the corner, its bright glow lighting up the street, Bella felt a shaky sort of relief. It squeaked to a halt just feet away from where she stood, and as quickly as she could, she clambered on.

She sat right at the front, behind the driver.

In the safety of the great metal beast, Bella rested her face against the window, the cool glass soothing on her flushed cheek. The rumble of tires on asphalt, the pneumatic opening and closing of doors as patrons came and went, and the gentle vibrations rippling up through the glass lulled her into a drowsiness that made her close her eyes. Had her stop not been coming up in less than ten minutes, Bella felt like she could have fallen asleep right then and there—being a passenger in a moving vehicle had always been her undoing, ever since she had been a small child. As the bus rumbled on, she remembered how her father would often load her into the back of his police cruiser, driving up and down the quiet side streets of their suburb to ease her gently into sleep…

The sound of the driver calling her stop jerked her from her sudden rest.

"Thanks," she murmured, clutching her purse to her chest as she stepped off at the stop nearest her house. She could see her building through the gap between a convenience store and a condo building. It was not very tall—not like the skyscrapers that dominated the downtown skyline—but it sat on the peak of a small, gently sloping hill that meant that she could see it even as far away as the Safeway about half a mile away. It called to her, like a beacon in the night, and resisting the urge to stop by the corner store for some chocolate, she made her way swiftly towards her home.

"Hey!" The voice echoed off of the grey bricks of her building as soon as she entered the parking lot, and she swiveled around.

"Hi..." Her voice was cautious. "What's up?"

"You've got mail." The boy—the stoner kid from the floor below, was standing in the open fire escape two floors up. Bella frowned as he released a puff of thick, grey smoke.

"Mail?" she repeated stupidly. "What mail?"

"I dunno," shrugged the kid. "A box. I've got it here…"

"What kind of box?"

"A cardboard one." He rolled his eyes. "You wanna come up and grab it? I signed for it when the FedEx guy dropped it off this morning…"

"Sure," she sniffled, her brow furrowed. She had not been expecting any kind of mail…

"It's not big," called the kid, just as Bella slipped through the front door of the building. "Something pretty small…"

The flight of stairs leading to the second floor passed in a blur as Bella rushed to the stranger's door. She tapped her ragged fingernails lightly against the lacquered wood, chuckling when she heard the boy trip before the door swung open.

Almost at once, she was hit by a cloud of putrid smoke.

"Yeah here…" His arm, bare and sweaty, thrust a small, paper-wrapped parcel at her. "It wouldn't fit right in the mailbox, so I brought it up. I didn't look to see what it was."

"Thanks…"

"No worries," he grunted. "Goodnight."

He slammed the door in her face.

Startled, Bella blinked stupidly at the closed door for a moment before she leaned back against the wall, the parcel heavy in her hand.

What could it be?

Unable to resist, she put her purse down in the hallway before she tore into the paper, pulling out a smooth, white box. She felt her eyes widen- she could barely believe what she was seeing—as she took in the familiar, fancy logo and the thick, stiff cardboard.

The slim, sleek box with the shining Apple logo was one she had coveted ever since she had first seen the wealthy, spoiled teenagers at her high school flaunting them all around the school. Charlie had never allowed her to have a phone—he was loathe to allow her any communication with the outside world that he could not monitor—and she had long-since given up on her desire to own one.

When she opened the box, the thin, pristine iPhone plopped delicately into her hand, glinting in the weak light as she turned it over.

There was a typed note underneath.

 _Bella,_

 _I would have delivered this myself, but I haven't had the time to hang around the Apple store while they get it set it up. I put you on my plan (so don't worry about any bills). The SIM card has been installed and it should be good to go whenever it gets to you. Once you get it working, give me a call so I know it works. You've got unlimited calls and texts, and a few gigs of data. Don't worry too much if you go over._

 _Love you,_

 _Em._

Bella beat back the niggling guilt at the thought of such an extravagant gift and instead let her excitement take over. She was glad the weird kid hadn't opened it—she was sure that if he had, this shiny new phone would have been the property of the pawn shop down the road. She had seen the boy numerous times with his hands full of things—a PlayStation, a DVD player, and once, even a flat screen TV that was almost too big to carry. He always came back with weed—Bella could smell it through the floor—and she had no doubts that he would have sold her phone in a heartbeat if it would get him a quick fix.

Carefully, she pushed the little power button on the side, her stomach leaping when the white logo appeared on the black screen. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Bella watched as the set up screen popped up, and she eagerly began tinkering.

It was only once she had inputted her language preference and password that she noticed the little "1%" in the top right-hand corner.

"Damn it," she complained, frowning when the little phone went black. Digging in the box, she pulled out the stiff, white power cord, glancing around for a wall socket. When she found none she felt a twinge of angry annoyance, though within a moment she found her self laughing at her own impatience. She would be upstairs in her own apartment in just two minutes if she would stop dallying.

She thundered up the stairs.

Ignoring all the closed doors along the hallway leading to her apartment, Bella eagerly sought out her number—305. She dug haphazardly in her purse as she went—the phone was safely situated in the pocket of her hoodie—and found her keychain, quickly pulling out her house key. She crammed it eagerly into the knob—she could not wait to get in and play with her new toy—but frowned when the key stopped, sticking halfway in.

"What the…" She put her purse down on the floor. Tugging the key carefully out of the lock, she tried again, grimacing when she felt grinding metal deep in the mechanism.

With an almighty shove, the key went in.

It would not turn.

"Seriously?" she muttered, pulling on her obstinate key agin. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She yanked, hard, and stumbled back when the key popped out.

The door swung open.

Bella stared.

 _She hadn't even turned the key._

"Hello?" The word escaped her in a shaking, nervous voice.

The black maw of the apartment door stared obstinately back at her, silent as a grave.

Carefully, she took a tentative step inside.

"Hello?" she whispered again, her shoes slipping on the little mat by the door. She held her breath. "Hello?"

Silence.

Carefully, eyes narrowed suspiciously, she closed the door behind her.

"Ridiculous," she muttered, shaking her head. She had obviously screwed up the lock on her way to work—she had almost been late, and she could not remember exactly if she had locked it properly before she left.

Obviously not.

Scoffing, she reached her hand up to the wall, clawing her way up to the little brown switch that would bring her home to life.

Click.

No light.

"What the hell?" repeated Bella, frowning up at the fluorescent bulb she couldn't see on the ceiling. "Come on…"

She flicked it again, groaning when there was no response. Glancing around the dark kitchen she saw the green light on her microwave clock shining bright. She knew she had paid her bill—there was no way her service had been cut off.

 _I must need a new bulb,_ she thought. _Where do you even go to get a fluorescent lightbulb? Why the hell_ was _it fluorescent, anyways?_

Sighing, she shifted out of her shoes and began to shuffle her way towards the living room. Her coordination was hopeless at the best of times, and she knew that if she went too fast, she would end up on the floor…

When she collided with the edge of the kitchen cabinet, grunting when a bruising pain shot through her side, her hand came down, hard, on the counter. Clawing carefully around the hard, clean surface to find the edge, Bella frowned when she felt the metal rings of the spiral notebook she always kept in her bedroom drawer.

How had it ended up here? Carefully, she moved her hands over the surface, trying to remember just when she had moved it, when her fingers closed over something else.

On top, resting on the worn, cardboard cover, Bella's hand clasped a piece of folded paper.

Moving towards the sink—there was a weak, hazy glow coming from a distant streetlamp through the kitchen window— Bella carefully unfolded the page and glanced down, squinting in the dark. She could not immediately make out the words—they were written in soft, grey pencil—but once she did, she felt her heart leap into her throat. She stilled, her eyes growing wide as saucers as she took in the words written there, her disbelieving eyes reading them over and over in the dim light…

 _Found you, Kitten._

Horror washed over her as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice over her shoulders. It trickled down her back like water, seeped into the very marrow of her bones until her mouth went dry and her knees began to shake. She read the words over again, bringing the paper up to the very end of her nose, hoping to God she had misread the words written there. The longer she stared, the more clear it became—as her eyes adjusted, the writing grew darker and darker until it felt like it was burned forever in the back of her mind.

How had he found her? How did he know where she was? How had he gotten inside? Where was he now? Was he still…

The cold, icy fear that penetrated her so deeply seemed to settle in her bones, and it was with stiff, jerky movements that she forced herself to turn around, facing the glaring darkness engulfing the rest of her home.

 _Danger._

Her heart hammering and eyes watering, Bella forced herself to peer into the blackness looking for something _, anything_ that would tell her where he had went.

 _What if he was still here?_

The house was deadly quiet. Clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her breathing, Bella moved carefully back towards the closed apartment door in her sock feet. She cringed when her toe scuffed against the small mat at the door, the sound suddenly loud and obtrusive in the thick quiet. Her shoes were heavy—they were the thick-bottomed, anti-slip pair she favoured at the café—and it was with great trepidation that she poked her feet inside.

She did not dare make a sound.

 _She would leave. She would run. She would get herself out of here, where a dangerous, crazed lunatic might be lurking in the dark…_

Only when she rested her hand on the doorknob, prepared to leave, did she hear it.

A creaking floorboard in her bedroom.

Over the weeks she had spent in her new home, Bella had grown used to the groaning and cracking that came with an old building. It had spooked her at first—had fooled her into thinking that she was not alone, despite her locked door, or that an animal had snuck in, despite her high windows. She had learned that when the old woman next door walked in her kitchen, Bella sometimes heard the reverberations in her living room. When Mr. Upstairs flushed his toilet, the pipes rattled in Bella's walls. And sometimes, when the kid downstairs slammed his door, the vacuum he created pulled on her own door and rattled it on its hinges.

But never—not once in the entire time she had spent here—had Bella ever heard the sound of footsteps in her own room. Not unless…

 _Someone was there._

Panic overcame her. A rattling gasp, escaping through the lump in her throat, sent her into a frenzy, and she hauled the door open, letting the hallway light spill into the black kitchen. She saw her purse in the middle of the floor where she had dropped it. She saw her shoe mat askew, and the red notebook—the one that had been serving as her journal—sitting crooked on the otherwise pristine kitchen counter.

And in the chink of light that shot through to the back bedroom, Bella's eyes locked on a sliver of pale, pointed face, with a gleaming blue eye and curled, snarling mouth.

She heard herself cry out as she slammed the door behind her, and flew back down the stairs.

* * *

"Come on, come on, come _on!"_ she whimpered, her back pressed against the cool metal dumpster three blocks from her building. She was out of breath—her feet, heavy in her work shoes, ached and her whole body, cold and frightened, was shaking. Her knees felt weak—she could run no further in this state—and she slid down in the dark, clutching the obstinately black phone to her chest.

"Please turn on," she begged, holding her shaking thumb down on the power button. "Just one call…"

The screen stayed black.

"Fuck!" The desperate curse escaped her in a breathy, thin whimper. She rested her head on her knees, her teeth sinking deep into her lip as she fought to think. She _had_ to think…

Her truck was stuck at work. Her phone was dead. She could make it to the café in about an hour on foot, but the windows would be black and the door locked. Alice and Jasper would be long gone. Her purse was in her house—her ID, wallet, money, and keys left inside—and she could not, under any circumstances, go back and retrieve it. Rosalie lived a good half hour away, and that was by car. Her brother…

 _Her brother._

"Emmett!" she whispered, a sudden burst of energy spurring her to her feet. The shaking in her legs made her whole body tremble.

 _She had to get to Emmett._

 **A/N: Short and not-so-sweet... Sorry for the cliffhanger. You also have my apologies for the long wait. I got caught up editing _A Diamond in the Rough_ and while I didn't mean to neglect this story I'm sorry to say that I did. I'm currently working on getting that one finished up, and will focus more heavily on this one once Part 1 is complete.**

 **I also have to give a little nudge to those readers who don't have me on author alert and who do not follow _DiTR._ I recently posted a teaser for a new story that will be in the works once _Invictus_ and _A Diamond in the Rough (Part 1)_ are finished. It's called _Beneath the Old Oak Tree_ and it can be found on my profile. It's just a little prologue right now, but as I always prefer to have at least two stories on the go (I find it helps with writer's block if I have different stories to move between), that will be the new story I start on once I get working on the second part of _DiTR_. In case you're not sure from the summary and the teaser itself, it will be an origin story for Carlisle.**

 **As always, let me know what you think!**


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Bella ran.

Her legs were burning. Her chest was heaving. Each breath tore through her like a knife through cloth, leaving ragged edges in its wake. Her feet felt raw, though this did not stop her—she was sure that come morning, she would find bleeding and torn blisters peppering her toes. Her hair, falling free from the loose ponytail she'd worn at work, was wet, plastered against the back of her neck, and her hands, clamped tight around the phone in her pocket, were cramping up.

She did not dare stop.

She did not know the time. She did not know how far she had run. She did not know how long she had been gone, or how much further she had to go, or whether she would reach her destination before she keeled over right there on the cold asphalt, spent and exhausted. She did not know where she was, or when she would be able to stop, or, most important of all, if _he_ was hot on her tail.

If he had a car, she was done for. If he had followed her, sneaking out of the apartment in her wake, she was doomed. He was faster than her. He was stronger than her. He was deranged, and angry, and absolutely mad…

She put on a burst of speed.

She had to get away. She could not stop now. She _would_ not stop now. To stop was to lose, and Bella had come too far to fall…

When a car—dark and slow—came creeping around the corner at the vacant intersection, Bella dove into the nearest alleyway. She hit the ground on her hands and knees, the sharp shards of gravel digging into the tender skin of her palms and tearing the knees of her pants. She scrambled to her feet, biting her lip against the sting, and pressed her back against the rough, ragged bricks on the wall behind her.

She could not be seen.

She felt sick as she waited, her breath coming in sharp, ragged pants. She stared, eyes streaming, at the vacant road. She could hear the dull rumble of the car's engine, the rough scratching of sand against rubber and asphalt as the tires rolled steadily on. She could not help but peek, keeping herself shielded by darkness as she listened, jaw clenched. It could not be him… he didn't drive a car like that. What were the odds that he'd find her here, on this one deserted street…

When the car rolled by Bella choked back a sob, her heart hammering in her ears. Her knees shuddered hard enough to make her fall, and she slid to the ground, her backside landing hard on the damp, cold sand with a _thump_.

A teenage girl—drunk, by the sound of her—whooped out the window and unleashed a peal of raucous laughter. Bella cried when she heard the sound— _it wasn't James—_ and pulled her knees up to her chest just as a large, hairy hand took the girl by the wrist and pulled her back inside.

"Jesus, Anna…" The boy's voice was loud. "Get inside, you nut!"

The car sped off.

Bella, her knees still quaking, forced herself to stand. Peeking out from the alleyway—she could only _just_ bring herself to glance anxiously in either direction—she took two tentative steps out before she turned left and took off again.

Her whole body screamed in protest as she began to sprint.

* * *

The night grew even darker around her as she moved. She could not run anymore—her quaking, trembling muscles would not allow it—so she resorted to awkward hobbling and half-hearted jogging. She could not bear to walk—the slowness made her feel vulnerable—but the longer she moved, the more she felt like she might never recover.

Her knees were swollen—she could feel them protesting with each step she took. Her back and neck were dripping with sweat, and her feet, which had been blistered long before she had reached the familiar, grassy intersection up ahead, were throbbing with sharp, piercing pains. There was no traffic—it was not a particularly busy street, and all the homes lining it were dark and shuttered. The streetlights she had been so staunchly avoiding had ended a few blocks back—this neighbourhood was too high-end to be marred by the standard orange lights on poles, and had instead opted for small, decorative lampposts perched at the ends of driveways. She could not see very far ahead—her eyes were streaming and the sharp, cool wind forced her to keep her head down.

She only knew where she was from the familiar intersection she had used each and every time she had driven herself to Emmett's house.

 _Thank God,_ she thought, stumbling towards the crosswalk. _Thank you, thank you, thank you…_

Ignoring her protesting lungs and screaming knees, she took off at a quick jog, rushing towards the road devoid of vehicles. Looking up the street she saw the sprawling, green grass and massive, towering coconut trees. She knew she was close… in her truck, she would have been there in less than five minutes…

It took twenty on foot.

By the time she reached the familiar, towering black gate, her whole body was shaking and she could barely breathe through her tears and the stitch in her chest. The house was dark—she could see only one light on near the back of the house—and she became suddenly, almost painfully aware that she did not remember the passcode.

 _1, 2, 3, 4…_ She stared, defeated, at the glowing number pad. _There was a five in there, somewhere, and maybe a seven…_

The sound of a car on the road behind her made her flinch, and in desperation, she rammed her index finger on the "Call" button.

A _beep_ and a _buzz_ had her holding her breath. On the road behind her, creeping slowly up the lane, Bella saw the telltale glow of headlights, and she threw herself unceremoniously behind her brother's largest coconut tree before the light landed on the driveway.

It neither slowed nor stopped.

" _I don't know…"_ A familiar voice, tinny and muffled, rang out from the darkness. _"Some kid, most likely…"_

"Wait!" The whisper was piercing, but not loud enough to resonate through the speaker. To her surprise, she saw her brother's blurry face—the camera system he had set up was obviously not high definition—and just as she dove out from behind the tree, the screen went dark.

"No!" The sound pierced the night. "No! Come back!"

She pushed the button again.

And again.

"Please come back," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry… please come back…"

The _beep_ and _buzz_ sounded out twice more, but the screen remained steadfastly dark.

"Please come back!" she pleaded, ramming the button again. "Emmett!"

" _Listen, I don't know who this is, but I swear to God…"_

"Emmett!" Bella's voice came out in a loud rush, her heart hammering in her ears. "Emmett, please!"

" _What the hell…"_

The screen flickered.

" _Jesus Christ!"_ A stranger's face appeared before her. _"Open the gate, man…"_

" _Fuck me! Bella!"_

Her brother shoved the stranger out of the way—Bella only vaguely recognized him—and she saw his hand slap at a panel to his left.

The gate clicked and swung open.

Bella did not wait for another word before she tossed herself into the safety of Emmett's yard, her legs turning to jelly as soon as the gate had locked behind her.

She could not move.

"Bella!" The voice was distant. "Bella, where are you?"

"Emmett!" Her voice was a croak, and she desperately cleared her throat. She could see light from the open door spilling out onto the dewy lawn through her glittering tears. A shadow—hulking and imposing—blocked it out, and Bella heard her brother's loud, thundering footsteps on the walkway.

"Bella! Marcus, turn on the porch light…"

A warm, yellow glow—too dim to reach the edge of the yard where she had fallen—lit up a circle of verdant grass around his front door.

She forced herself to rise.

"Emmett!" she croaked again, and this time she saw his head swivel around. Bella could see him in the glow—his eyes were narrowed and the tendons on his neck stood out. He stared, squinting into the blackness, and Bella stumbled forward into the circle of light, tripping on a garden hose.

"Jesus Christ," spat Emmett, rushing forward when he caught sight of her sprawled on the ground. "Jesus Christ, Bella…" She scrambled to her feet.

She threw herself on him, her stiff, quaking arms wrapping tight around his neck before she lost her head completely and burst into a torrent of tears.

"Shit, kid…" She heard the fear in Emmett's voice. "Come here. Are you hurt? What happened?"

She shook her head, panting through the pain in her chest. The sound seemed to startle him—the awful, ragged tearing sound deep in her chest culminating in a hacking cough—and he frantically rubbed her back, spinning to face the open door.

"Christ," he spat. "Marcus, call an ambulance!"

"I'm fine," she gasped, shaking her head. "Please don't…"

Marcus—Bella remembered the man only vaguely from her discharge from the hospital all those weeks ago—came rushing out of the house, cellphone poised to call.

"Don't," she said, loud enough for him to hear. "I'm sorry. I…"

"Are you hurt?" demanded Emmett again, trying to pry her away. "Let me see, Bella…"

He held her awkwardly at arm's length, ignoring her desperate clinging as his eyes roved over her.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked, pulling her close again. She shook her head. "Come inside and sit down…"

She leaned most of her weight on him, her feet pulsing and twinging with each step she took, as they hobbled towards his open front door.

"Christ…" Emmett ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Bella…"

When he let her go, she fell down on the bench just inside his door, her hands braced on either side. She saw the stranger, Marcus, crouch down in front of her, his brooding face screwed up in anxious worry.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low. "Emmett, get her some water…"

She saw her brother rush towards the kitchen.

"Here…" Marcus reached down to her feet, and Bella cried out when he pried one of her thick, leather shoes off. Her socks stuck to the blisters on her toes, pulling painfully as the shoe came loose. When it fell to the floor by the door, she heard the man hiss.

"Good god, girl…" He moved to her other foot. "You're socks are _soaked!"_

"I'm sorry…"

"Shush." The man's tone was sharp. "Let me see…"

"Don't!" she cried, her tears spilling over once more as he began to peel the socks away from her feet. The angry flare of pain made her pull away. "Please…"

"Hey, it's okay." His voice softened. "We've gotta get them off. They're all bloody…"

"Bloody?" Bella repeated stupidly. "What…?"

Glancing down, Bella felt her stomach roil as she caught sight of her pristine, white work socks saturated with thick crimson blood.

"Ow…" she groaned, turning her head away.

"Christ, Bella!" spat Emmett again, appearing with a cold water bottle. He stepped gingerly around his friend to crouch next to her. "What the hell did you _do?"_

"I don't know…" She took the water, gulping it down. "I don't know…"

"Where did you come from?"

"Home…"

"Home?" repeated Emmett, flinching when she cried out. Marcus had managed to pry one filthy sock from her foot. "How did you get here?"

"Ran…" She gulped more water.

"You ran?" repeated Emmett, disbelief colouring his every word. "Where's your truck?"

"Work…" Her eyes screwed up as the second sock fell to the floor. She forced herself to glance at them—the sight of the blood made her sick, but the pale, nervous look on Marcus' face made her swallow it back. The socks were bad enough… she could not bring herself to look at the oozing cuts and torn, angry skin…

"Why's your truck at work?" demanded Emmett. Bella blinked as he began to fuss over her, his hands tucking strands stray hair behind her ears. He cupped her cheeks for a long moment, his blue eyes boring into hers, and when she did not answer his question, he shifted his attention downward. His eyes narrowed, confused compassion morphing into indignant anger, as he reached a hand down to cup her calf. He brought her foot into the light, and Bella did her best to ignore the warm, tickling drop of blood coursing down the sole of her foot.

"Jesus, look at your feet. They're all torn up… Are those all _blisters?_ Where in the hell is your truck?"

"It got stuck in the alley. But Emmett…"

"Stuck how?" He inspected her oozing foot. "Shit… this might need a doctor, Bell. For real… I don't know. They're all torn up…"

"Em…"

"How in the _hell_ did you _walk_ here with your feet like this?" He interrupted her again. "Come on. I'll set you in the bathroom and we can rinse them off. You must be sore, kiddo…" He took her arm, carefully helping her up. She took one, tentative step forward, inking a dark, glistening footprint on the floor…

"But…"

"Come on."

"There was…"

"We need to clean these up, for a start…" He was rambling. "Come on, Bell. We'll get you all sorted out, and then—"

"Emmett!"

"What?" He stopped when she pulled her arm away. "What's wrong, Bella?"

"He was in my house."

Her brother froze.

"What?"

She sat back down on the bench.

"I…"

"Who was in your house, Bella?"

She bit her lip, her eyes filling with traitorous tears. Her brother had no idea the trouble she had gotten herself into all those months ago… not even the _police_ knew the whole, sordid tale…

"Who, Bella?" Emmett crouched in front of her again, his worried eyes trained on her face. _"Who_ was in your house?"

As tears fell swiftly down her cheeks, Bella reached her hand into the pocket of her hoodie. She felt the dead cell phone resting there—oh how she _wished_ it had held its charge—and right next to it, balled up and creased, was the piece of notebook paper that had sent her reeling.

Her hands trembling, Bella held out the scrap towards him, her eyes brimming over with salty tears. When he unfolded it, his eyes scanning quickly over the words, she watched him blanch.

"What the hell does this mean?" he growled, holding the paper out to his friend. Suddenly ashamed, Bella sniffled as the other man read it over as well, his brows twitching in confusion.

" _He_ was there," she whispered, shaking her head. "I went home from work, and when I got in, I found this…"

"Who was in your house, Bella?" Emmett's voice was growing louder. "What the hell does that note mean?"

"His name is James," said Bella finally, her voice shaking. "He's the one who…"

"James…" Emmett tested the name on his tongue. "James…"

"I told you about him," she whimpered, the lump in her throat growing. "When I first came here. And then tonight, when I got home, I saw him…"

"Are you telling me," Emmett's voice had grown dangerous, "that the guy who hit you— the one who busted up your face—was in your house tonight?"

"Yes," said Bella, her voice tight. She could not bear to look at him. "Yes…"

"Fuck, Bella." Her eyes clenched shut and she heard him stand. "Fuck me…"

"Em." Marcus' rebuke was sharp. "Honey, did he hurt you?"

"Shit, yeah…" She snapped her eyes open when her brother clasped her shoulders. His face was very close to hers. "Did he touch you, Bella?"

"No…" She shook her head. The adrenaline was starting to drain from her, and she was growing more tired by the second. "No…"

"Did he speak to you?"

"No."

"Were the police called?"

"The phone was dead."

"What phone?" Emmett sat back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. "What are you talking about, kiddo?"

"This one…" She pulled the phone out of her pocket. "It came today, while I was at work, and I was going to plug it in upstairs when…"

"Fucking useless thing, of course it was dead," growled Emmett. "But damn, Bella, did you walk all the way here?"

She jerked a nod.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"No."

"It's almost three thirty in the morning," said Emmett gently. "What time did you leave home?"

"I don't know!"

"Shit, don't cry…"

"I'm sorry!"

"Come here." His arms cradled her—one around her back and one under her knees—and she yelped when her body left the bench. "You're safe now, Bella. We'll get to the bottom of this."

Unable to help herself, Bella turned her face into his shoulder and let her tears fall. She tried to control her breathing—tried to tame the embarrassing hiccups and squeaks that betrayed her fear—but could not prevent them as her brother carried her swiftly through the house to one of his downstairs bathrooms. He deposited her carefully on the edge of a large Jacuzzi tub, her dripping feet resting carefully on the cold, stone bottom.

"Take it easy, kiddo…" He rubbed her back. "We're going to wash your feet, and Marcus is going to call the police."

She bit her lip and wiped her face.

"Can you tell me again what happened?" asked Emmett gently, reaching over to the faucet. Water—cool and clear—surged from the tap, and Bella flinched when it hit her feet. The wounds burned as the water ran pink, and her brother carefully lowered a soft, white washcloth into the tepid water.

"I went home…" Bella's voice was stuttered and rough. "I worked until 10…"

"Mhm…" The cloth on her feet made her wince. "What time did you get home?"

"I don't know…" She couldn't help but pull away as he dabbed the cloth over the wounds. The minute she showed pain he dropped the towel into the tub, muttering a quiet, frustrated apology. As she gently uncurled her toes, trying to let the water wash away the grime, he plugged the drain, letting the water pool under her feet.

He sat next to her, pulling her close as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"About when?" he murmured. "Did you drive home?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The truck got blocked in," she sniffed.

"At the café?"

"In the alleyway," she nodded. "I park there so people don't see me…"

"Ah." He looked guilty. "I get it. What was blocking the truck?"

"A street sweeper."

"Mhm."

"So I bussed," she sniffed. "Alice tried to drive me, but I didn't want her to go out of her way…"

She saw Emmett bite his cheek.

"And then?"

"And then…" She swirled her foot in the pink pool. "The kid downstairs told me I had mail."

"The phone…" murmured Emmett. His thumb drew circles on the back of her hand. "And then?"

"Then I tinkered with it in the hallway downstairs…" Bella wiped her cheeks. "I got it set up, and then it died. I was going to charge it once I got upstairs."

He rubbed her back.

"The doorknob was screwed up," she croaked, shaking her head. "The key wouldn't go in properly. I thought I broke it in my rush to leave this morning…"

Her brother looked suddenly furious.

"I _knew_ you should have had a deadbolt," he growled. "Fucking incompetent people…"

"And the light was out."

"The light?"

"The kitchen light wouldn't come on. I had power—the microwave clock was working—so I figured it must have been dead. But now I wonder if it wasn't part of his plan…"

"So it was dark." Emmett's arms tightened. "And then what?"

"And then I was a little freaked out," said Bella honestly. "I don't like the dark, and it seemed too quiet…"

"So?"

"So I moved to the living room to find another light. But I tripped and hit the kitchen counter, and I found my notebook out there…"

"What notebook?"

"The one I keep in my bedroom," whimpered Bella. "I couldn't figure out how it got there, but when I went to pick it up, that paper was on top…"

"The note?"

"Mhm…" _Oh, how her feet ached…_

"Then what?"

"Then I freaked," she said, a tremor rolling down her spine. "I read that note over and over, hoping I had read it wrong, but I could see the words in the light from the window…"

"And then you booked it?" guessed Emmett.

"No, then I heard the noise."

"What noise?"

"From my bedroom." Emmett's jaw twitched. "The apartment makes all kinds of noises, but I know that the only way for that floor to creak is if someone walks on it."

"The guy was still in your house?!"

"Yes," said Bella, her eyes welling up again. "I freaked out when I heard him move and tried to sneak back out, but when I opened the door, the light from the hallway came in…"

"Shit, Bella…"

"...And he was just standing there, in my room, glaring at me."

"Who _is_ this asshole?" asked Emmett, squeezing her shoulder when her tears threatened to fall. "No, don't cry, Bell…"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just…"

"You're freaked out, I get it," said Emmett at once. "And your feet are all torn up, and you must be absolutely _exhausted,_ not to mention hungry…"

She did not refute him.

"The police are here," said Marcus gruffly and Bella jumped. She had forgotten he was even there.

"Good."

"The guy says he knows her."

"Does he?" Emmett raised an eyebrow.

Marcus stepped aside, and Bella gasped, her face flushing red as she came face-to-face with the familiar, grey-eyed man she saw almost daily. A flood of relief ran through her at the sight of his worried face, and though she knew her night was far from over, something instinctive and frightened deep inside her settled down at the sight of him.

" _Jasper!"_ His eyes widened as he stepped inside.

"Good lord, darlin'…" Jasper glanced anxiously into the tub, a surprised grimace crossing his face. "What in the hell happened to you?"

* * *

"You're going to need to have those feet looked at," said Jasper gently, his notebook sitting open on the coffee table in Emmett's sitting room. "You're still bleeding, and I'd hate to see them get infected..."

"We'll go just as soon as she eats something," said Emmett at once. He had her head cradled in his lap and a box of tissues by his side. "You must be starving…"

"No," she said at once. "I just want to _sleep."_

"I just have a few more questions, Bella, then I'll get out of your hair." said Jasper gently. "I know you're worn out."

She sniffled, staring up at him. She had a tissue pressed to her streaming nose—she would _not_ make a mess of Emmett's sweatpants—but she could not bring herself to move from her new place. Her brother had his fingers tangled in her damp curls, his short nails raking over her scalp. It soothed her—she had always loved it when he played in her hair—and she found that the more she was able to relax, the less likely she was to erupt into tears.

"What questions?"

"You filed a report with me a few months back," said Jasper. His lips were pursed. "Back in the hospital. Do you remember?"

"Yes." Her face flushed red.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you told me then that you were running from this character, this _James_ , and that he had assaulted you."

"Yes."

"You also told me that he was sexually aggressive."

"Yes…" Her brother's face darkened.

"I have to ask, Bella…"

"What, Jasper?"

"Is there anything you didn't tell me back then?" he asked. "Anything at all that would explain why he would show up at your apartment, without invitation, to wait in the dark?"

Her cheeks grew hot.

"I… I don't know."

"Officer Daniels found evidence of a break in," said Jasper gently, his elbows resting on his knees. "Your lock had been forced, and while nothing seems to be missing, the bedroom was torn apart. Of course, only you'll know for sure if anything was taken…"

She flinched, biting her lip.

"It's important that we know the whole truth," continued Jasper. "It's rare for trespassers to wait for the homeowner to come back, unless there's some kind of nefarious intent. The odds of him finding you at random, given your shared history, are astronomical. But it also begs the question—why _you?_ What happened to make him seek you out?"

"I don't know."

"So what hasn't been said?"

"He…"

Emmett's hand curled in her hair.

"He tried to…" Embarrassment stilled her tongue.

"Oh, _fuck_ him!" Emmett's low baritone rumbled menacingly through the room, and the suddenness made Bella jump. "If you say what I _think_ you're about to say…"

"Let her speak," said Jasper crossly. "He tried to what, Bella?"

His pencil was poised over his notebook.

"He…"

"What?"

"He… he _sells_ _girls,_ " said Bella awkwardly, her words coming out in a rush. Her brother stiffened beneath her, a low snarl escaping him as Jasper wrote furiously in his notebook.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because he had girls like Jane…"

"The friend you met at the townhouse?"

"Yes." She was beginning to wonder if she had never felt more exhausted than she did now. "Yes, the night I left, he was gone to find her…"

"I see."

Jasper continued to write.

"Anything else?"

"He…"

"What?" Emmett's teeth were gritted. When she stumbled, unsure how to proceed, he gently coaxed her up.

"I love you." He pressed a rough kiss to her temple. "Nothing you say will change that. But I swear to God, I will _kill_ that man if I ever lay my hands on him."

A stab of fear tore through her, and her mouth fell closed. Jasper admonished him softly—something about _uttering threats—_ and while Emmett remained stonily silent as the officer spoke, Bella could not bring herself to continue.

"I can have you come to the station tomorrow to give a statement if that would be easier for you," said Jasper sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Bella. I don't mean to drag this up again…"

"No." She shook her head. "No, I don't want to go to the station."

"Okay," said Jasper, his pencil poised. "What else do you think I should know? Other than his attachment to your friend, Jane, what else makes you think he's a pimp?"

Bella grimaced at the word.

"He…"

"Did he ever make _you_ serve men?"

"No."

"Women?"

"No," said Bella again, and she felt Emmett relax. "No, but…"

"But what?" he growled, and Bella shifted away.

"He…"

"Just say it, Bell. No one's in trouble…" Bella sniffled, shaking her head.

"He _tried."_

The room went silent.

"Tried to what?" Emmett's voice was low.

" _That_ night," she began, her memory flashing to that chaotic evening so long ago. "The night I ran, he brought a man to the house. Some older guy in a suit, and this guy told James that he would pay…"

"Pay for what?" Jasper looked grim.

"Pay for _me…"_ Bella cleared her throat. "The guy asked if I was _pure,_ and when James said that he would have me checked, the guy offered him extra…"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Emmett shifted her carefully away. "I can't listen to this. I'm sorry, Bella."

Bella, her cheeks a furious red, bit her lip as her brother stalked out.

"He just needs to cool down." Marcus spoke from the shadows. "He's not angry with you, Isabella. Your brother's always been a bit touchy, and he's had a few to drink tonight..."

"I know," she said. Her mouth was dry. "I'm sorry."

Marcus sighed, shaking his head.

"He's the one who'll be sorry," he muttered, glancing towards the back door as her brother slithered outside. "He doesn't mean to be harsh…"

"I _know,"_ said Bella again. Traitorous tears welled in her eyes, and she fought against the sudden lump in her throat. "It's fine."

Marcus stood, following her brother outside.

Jasper sighed.

"What happened next, darlin'?"

"I ran," whimpered Bella, her cheeks wet. "I flipped out—I didn't want that creep anywhere _near_ me—and he got mad. He slapped me, pulled that knife, and then…"

"And then?"

"I ran," she finished pathetically. "I booked it out of there just as soon as I could be sure that he wouldn't get me. He left in his car—Laurent and I were alone in the house—and I said goodbye to the dog, and I just took off…"

Jasper remained silent.

"And then I ended up behind your café," she finished lamely. "Tyler found me, and you and Alice got me to the hospital, and Rose took me in, and…"

Jasper scribbled.

"…here I am."

"Here you are," said Jasper, sitting back on the sofa. "Thank you, Bella."

"For what?"

"For the truth," he said gently. "It helps, you know, when we have all the facts."

Her cheeks grew hot again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head. She pressed her face into one of Emmett's decorative pillows. "I didn't mean to… leave things out. Before, I mean…"

"You did what you had to do," said Jasper, quiet and calm. "I'll never begrudge you that. You've been very brave tonight, you know."

"No I haven't," snorted Bella. A dark laugh bubbled on her lips. "I took off from my house like a total coward, and didn't even have the sense to call the police, and instead of finding a phone to ask someone to pick me up…"

"Panic makes us do strange things," said Jasper sagely. "You wouldn't believe the lengths people will go to to protect themselves."

Bella bit her tongue.

"You ran, just like you should have. We didn't find him at your apartment, but from what you've told us, he's bad news. You did the right thing by leaving."

"Yeah…"

"If you had stayed, or if you'd ignored that strange feeling you had when you walked in, who knows what might have happened? We might have been having a very different conversation if he'd gotten his hands on you."

His words gave her a chill

"And no matter what happened in the interim," he continued, "you're safe now. Your brother will make sure of that, and so will my department."

Bella, snuggling up to the afghan Emmett had tucked around her, gave a little nod of assent.

"I think it would be best, however," he continued, "if you stayed away from that apartment for the time being. My colleagues will inform the landlord tomorrow morning, and they'll do a thorough sweep. Most likely they'll want to take you through with them, so you can determine what, if anything, was taken."

"How did he find me?" she asked, her voice small and frightened.

"I don't know that yet," admitted Jasper. "But I promise we will do all we can to try and figure it out."

She sighed.

"Jasper?"

"Yes, Bella?"

"There's something else…"

He paused, his pencil gripped tightly in his hand.

"Yes?"

"The house…"

"The townhouse?"

"Yes," she said. "I can't remember where it was, exactly."

"I know." He smiled tightly. "Don't worry about that."

"He and Laurent were up to something…"

"What?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I've been thinking about the basement."

"Of the house?"

"Mhm."

"What's in the basement?"

"I don't know, exactly…"

"Well, tell me what you _do_ know."

"There were… noises."

"Noises?"

She swallowed thickly.

"Sometimes I wondered if…"

"If what?"

"If they weren't keeping something… or _someone_ … down there."

Jasper blinked.

"What kinds of noises?"

"Shouting," said Bella at once. "Banging, grumbling, talking…"

"If he was into drugs, as you suspected me might be, then he could have been keeping his inventory down there. It's not unusual for people like that to…"

"No, this was different." Bella shook her head. "I was curious, once, so I eavesdropped."

"And what did you overhear?"

"James told Laurent to _manage it…_ and whatever _it_ was, it was downstairs. _"_ She spoke in a low voice."He told him to keep whatever was down there quiet. And when he caught me listening—I've always been a hopeless liar—he told me that if I didn't stop nosing around, he'd _show_ me what was down there."

"And did he?"

"No." Bella shook her head. "No, but he said that if I ever _did_ see what it was…"

"What?"

"I'd never forget it," she whispered. "I don't know what he had down there, but after what he tried to do to me, I can't help but wonder…"

"Wonder what?"

"I can't help but wonder if the other girls he talked about—the ones like Katie and Dora—hadn't really left after all."

"We'll figure it out, Bella," said Jasper finally, after a long moment of silence. "Thank you for your statement."

She shrugged, closing her eyes.

"I'm going to ask you to stay here for a little while," he said as he rose to his feet. "I've got your brother's phone number and address on file, and we'll be in touch…"

"She'll be here." Emmett's voice, sounding from the kitchen, made her jump. Her eyes flashed open, narrowing suspiciously when she caught the roughness in his throat and the redness around his eyes.

Had she made him cry?

"I thought as much," said Jasper. "You've got an excellent security system, and we'll have officers on standby in the area should you detect anything suspicious."

"We'll be perfectly safe," said Emmett confidently. "Thanks for coming out, man. Rose is going to shit her pants when I talk to her later…"

Jasper's mouth tightened.

"I don't doubt it," he murmured. His eyes flashed momentarily to Bella. "But for now, you both need rest. And she needs to get those feet looked at by a doctor."

"I know," said Emmett. Bella could barely keep her eyes open.

"And I'll let Alice know what happened," said Jasper quietly, "if that's alright with you, Bella? Don't worry about work for now… Alice will understand."

"Thanks, Jasper."

"I'm sure she'll call to check up," said Jasper quickly, glancing at his watch. "She should be up in about an hour, and I don't doubt that she'll be worried sick once she finds out…"

"She can call here any time," said Emmett quickly. He sat on the edge of the couch, right by Bella's knees. "You can give her the number, man, or I can ask Rose to shoot her a text…"

"I'll let her know," said Jasper. "Feel better, Bella. And try to get some rest. This guy isn't going to get away with this. We'll get to the bottom of it."

"Thanks Jasper." The writhing in her belly was not entirely settled. "I really appreciate it…"

"You take some time for yourself, now," said Jasper gently. "Go and get those feet checked out—I'm sure your brother will be more than willing to drive you—and then get some sleep. You look like you need it."

"I do," she admitted, stifling a yawn. "I don't think I've ever been this tired…"

"Come on, kiddo," said Emmett heavily, crouching down to take her hands. "We'll follow him out. Marcus is going to drive… no, don't argue. We were playing cards when you showed up, and he only had one glass of scotch a few hours ago…"

"I don't mind," said Marcus at once, seeming to sense the protest on her tongue. "I've been good to drive for hours. We'll get in pretty quick—those cuts look nasty—and we'll be back here in no time. Then, you and your brother can take a good, hard-earned nap before we have to get back into the thick of things."

His plan was solid, and Bella was too tired to argue.

"Thanks," she said meekly, submitting with blushing discomfort when her brother—strong and sturdy—lifted her from the sofa. She could not walk on her own—not with her feet the way they were—and so when he deposited her carefully in the backseat of his black Mercedes, she uttered only another _thank you._

They followed Jasper, who was steering his white cruiser, out to the main road on their way to the emergency department. Bella fell asleep on the way.

 **A/N: I couldn't leave you with that evil cliffie for too long. That would be just plain mean.**

 **Let me know what you think! I turn 23 today, and reviews make excellent birthday presents... ;)**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

"Thanks, Emmett."

"I've got you, kiddo. Just take it real slow."

The staircase leading to Bella's third floor apartment had never seemed so long. She stood on the dusty, damp carpet in the first-floor lobby, her cheeks tinged red as curious onlookers peered out from cracks in their doors. The landlord—the strange man with the slick, oiled hair Bella and Rose had met only briefly that day they had come to view this apartment—stood stiffly in the corner, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Bella had only seen him a few times since that first meeting, and never because of anything she had done. She had seen that look of surly impatience on his face many times before as he knocked on doors, wanting to know why the rent was late or why the police had been called on a rowdy party the night before. This time, however, his impatience seemed to be warring with a genuine curiosity as his eyes flickered between Bella's bandaged feet and her brother's imposing figure.

"Just try the first one, and if it's too bad, I'll help you up…"

"I'll make it," said Bella, her teeth gritted as she lifted her clumsy foot to the first stair. The dull ache that coursed up her calf made her grimace. She could not feel the stair through her shoes but the pressure alone was enough to make her knees quiver, though she would rather have her foot fall right off before she let Emmett catch on.

She leaned heavily on his arm.

"Remember what the doctor said, kid." Emmett's tone was worried. "Don't overexert yourself…"

" _You're lucky these don't need stitches,"_ the doctor had admonished. _"This is one of the worst I've seen… how far did you say you walked on them?"_

" _I don't know," grumbled Bella. She rubbed her gritty eyes. "A few miles?"_

" _More like ten," growled Emmett. "It took you at least three hours…"_

" _Whatever." Bella hissed as the doctor dabbed at her toes. It was all she could do to keep from kicking him. "How bad is it?"_

" _They'll need bandaging," grimaced the old man. "And you'll need to keep off of them for a little while yet. They'll take at least a few weeks to heal, assuming you don't overexert yourself, and in the meantime, you'll need dressing changes every two days. The last thing we need is an infection, especially on the feet… you're not diabetic, are you?"_

" _No."_

" _Well, that's some good news, then…"_

 _She could not help the whimper when the stinging, pungent disinfectant dripped liberally over the tender, open sores._

"I've got it," said Bella again, her hand clutching his wrist. Her pace was slow—she knew the people falling in step behind them were bound to feel held up—but between the pain of movement and the overlarge flip flops she had borrowed from Emmett's closet, it was all she could do to keep herself upright.

She would _not_ let Emmett carry her.

"Don't worry about it, Bella," said Rose. "Take all the time you need."

"Thanks…"

Rose placed a steadying hand, firm and warm on Bella's back as the latter steeled her shoulders.

Each step felt like a mile as she slowly and carefully climbed the steps towards the third floor. The neighbours all gawked—some at her feet, some at the plethora of armed officers trailing after her and some at the tall, bulky form of her famous brother, who only had eyes for her. Bella knew that people would recognize him—every other time he had been here, he had been decked out in sunglasses and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. He was good at hiding his face—for someone so easily recognizable, Bella was astonished at how easy it was for Emmett to go incognito when he needed to.

But he, like her, was exhausted, and hadn't bothered to shield himself before helping her into his car after a brief and unsatisfying nap.

When they reached the third floor—Emmett scowling and Bella blinking back tears—it was all she could do to look at the open, noisy apartment door. It was bright inside—someone had evidently pulled back the drapes in the small, dusty living room—and the voices from police radios echoed obnoxiously down the hallway. Bella shivered as she waited. The hall was not cold—far from it, in fact—but the very thought of going back in, of returning to the place where her privacy had been so cruelly violated, was obscene. She did not want to walk in, even though she knew Jasper and his coworkers were waiting just on the other side of the door, and though Emmett's urging hand tried to usher her forward, she planted herself firmly in place.

"Bell?"

"Give her a minute." Rose's voice was sharp as she crested the staircase. "It's bound to be a shock…"

"Are you alright?" Emmett ignored the advice. "You've gone pale, Bella… are your feet bothering you?"

"A bit," she shrugged, blinking her bleary, sandy eyes. "The doctor said they might…"

"He also gave you a prescription," Emmett reminded her pointedly. He procured the small, orange bottle from the pocket of his shorts, rattling the tablets inside. "Do you need one?"

"No," said Bella at once. They made her foggy. "It's not that bad."

 _Liar._

"Are you ready to go inside?"

"No."

"O…kay." Emmett leaned awkwardly against the corner, squishing himself back to let the officers up. Rosalie, clicking her tongue disapprovingly, nudged her way past Emmett and wrapped her arm around Bella's shoulders, gently but firmly pulling her upright. She had been slouching—a sure sign of nerves—but Bella knew that Rosalie understood. Rose had been over at first light, just as soon as she'd received Emmett's flustered, anxious voicemail, and she'd reminded Bella of an angry mother cat in the impressive display of protective worry that had reared its head at the sight of her new bandages. She'd ignored Emmett almost completely, screeching through the gate with almost indecent haste—she, evidently, had not forgotten the entrance code—and had barreled through the front door with such vim that she'd nearly knocked poor Marcus right on his backside as he was kneeling to tie his shoes.

" _Are you okay?"_ Her voice had been almost shrill. _"What happened, Bella? Emmett told me…"_

 _Her eyes, wide and ferocious, had fixed immediately on the bulky, unsightly bandages encasing her feet and she'd pushed past Marcus altogether to take Bella's sore, worn foot in her hands._

" _What happened?" she asked again, a little more subdued. The fire in her eyes was glowing. "Emmett said there was an emergency…"_

 _Bella, exhausted, had simply shaken her head and pulled her friend in for a hug, both women unaware of Emmett's nervous, fluttering hands hovering over them as the tears began to fall._

"Give her a minute," repeated Rose. "I can't imagine what's going through her head…"

"I'm being silly," said Bella at once, forcing a smile as she shifted her weight. "I know he's not in there…"

"You don't need to justify yourself," said Rose at once. "It makes perfect sense, why you'd be hesitant."

"I really hope he didn't take anything," said Bella, a rush of nausea making her grimace. "It's bad enough he was in there in the first place…"

"Anything he took can be replaced," intoned Emmett. His voice was low and somber. "Objects aren't important… what's important is that he didn't get _you,_ because then we'd be having a very different kind of meeting."

"That's what Jasper said," sighed Bella, recalling the conversation she'd had the night before. "I know you're both right, but I just…"

"Never mind that." Rose patted her back. "Take all the time you need. There's no rush… Jasper's in charge in there, and he's not about to get angry with you."

 _But still,_ Bella thought, _it wasn't right to keep him waiting._

"I'll be fine," she said finally, swallowing back the anxiety that had risen so thickly in her throat. She wondered if she might be sick. Taking her brother by the arm—she had no hope of getting _anywhere_ without his help—she began the slow amble towards the open, bustling apartment door.

Everything was just as she had left it.

In the middle of the kitchen floor, upturned and spilling, was the black purse she had carried home with her the night before. Her wallet and keys—neither disturbed nor stolen—lay haphazardly on the stained linoleum with a pen, some old receipts, and a few dusty after-dinner mints. On the counter, Bella saw the notebook and by the sink, though her sudden rush of discomfort made her look away, Bella thought she saw black fingerprint dust. All of these things were marked by yellow, numbered evidence tags, and before she could so much as glance towards that fateful back bedroom, a young man with a hairnet and gloves handed them each a pair of shoe covers for their feet.

Bella had to take off the flip flops, walking on her bandages instead.

"Hey, Bella." Jasper emerged from the living room. "Thanks, Miles. We'll take them from here."

Jasper's shoes had covers too.

"Those are just to avoid any contamination," explained Jasper, smirking at the sight of Rose's abandoned heels in the entranceway. "We got some boot prints in the back room, and we want to make sure that none of us contaminate anything."

"Right." Bella cleared her throat. "Where do you want me to look?"

"Might as well start right here," said Jasper.

"What am I looking for?" she asked. She gripped Emmett's hand in a tight, white-knuckled fist. "I'm not exactly sure what to tell you…"

"I want you to tell me if anything looks out of place," said Jasper at once. "We've taken pictures of everything and I'll let you know if something shouldn't be moved, but it will be helpful for us if you can tell if anything is out of place. We can't find anything obviously missing—even your wallet and keys were left behind—but we can't know for sure without your input."

"The notebook is out of place," said Bella at once, pointing a shaking finger towards the pad of paper. "But I told you that last night."

"You did," agreed Jasper, though he noted it anyways.

"Where should I look?" She stepped carefully around the purse.

"The cabinets, the fridge, your purse…" he ticked off places on his fingers. "It's your house. You know where's best to look."

Sighing, Bella wrenched open the fridge door. Inside sat her leftover takeout from a few days prior, the gallon of milk for which she'd been overcharged at the convenience store down the road, and the dozen or so apples that had broken free of their plastic bag and scattered all over the second shelf.

"No." Bella shook her head, glancing down at the floor. "Everything's there…"

Jasper made another note.

She moved on to the purse.

* * *

"Now, I warn you," began Jasper, "the state of the bedroom is quite shocking. We've collected all the evidence we can, but I need you to take a good, thorough inventory to tell me if anything is missing."

Bella stood, pale and resolute, before the closed bedroom door.

"It's very important," said Jasper again, his hand resting on the cold doorknob. "I know this is scary to hear, but if he's taken any sensitive information, we need to know so my department knows what to watch for."

"Okay."

She felt breathless.

"I promise you, there's no danger," said Jasper softly. "Nothing in that room is going to hurt you, Bella."

It was all she could do, standing motionless before that wooden door, to stop from thinking about that sliver of pale, pointed face, almost glowing in the light from the hallway outside…

The door swung open. Her breath left in a rush.

Whatever she had been expecting… whatever horrors she had envisioned or danger she had imagined into the dimly lit, familiar space, did not measure up to the reality of her chaotic and upturned bedroom. It took her a moment to make sense of the scene before her—how could he have wreaked such havoc in her quiet, unbecoming little apartment without alerting the neighbours? How was it possible that he—this man who had lurked so menacingly in the shadows just the night before—could have snuck in and done this much damage without being detected?

The room was torn apart. The closet, which had held her meager supply of summer clothes, was disemboweled, its contents strewn angrily across the floor. There were broken clothes hangers—all plastic and sharp—littering the ground under her feet, and for a brief moment as she stepped inside, she was glad for the thick, protective bandages on her feet. The books she kept on her nightstand looked as if they had been thrown at the wall in a fit of temper—they lay open, their spines cracked to pages unread, along the far wall, where chips of paint had been carved out by their sharp edges. The bed she slept in—the small, squeaky twin—had been pushed away from the wall, its haphazard angle suggesting force. The mattress had been stripped—her pillows, sheets, and blankets rolled into a ball behind the open door—and the old oak drawers that served as a dresser were hanging open, their contents draped over knobs and edges. The little glass trinkets—mementos from her father's house back in Washington—had been thrown to the floor and shattered, and a photograph—an old one of a young Bella sitting by a duck pond—had its glass broken.

"Holy shit," said Emmett, astonished as he took in the sight. Bella turned to him, her face purposefully stoic, as she took in the wide, alarmed eyes and angry tilt of his mouth. Rose only peeked inside—her bare feet would not be protected from the bits of broken glass by the thin shoe covers—and gasped when she saw the destruction.

"I, uh…" Bella cleared her throat as she took another tentative step inside. Glass crunched under her feet.

"I know," said Jasper soothingly, his hands outstretched as if he half expected her to fall. "I know it's a lot to take in, so take your time…"

"No, I…" Bella shook her head. "I… wow."

Her shoulders slumped, a sickening weight settling in her stomach, as her gaze roved over the damage.

"How did no one hear him?" she said finally, voicing that one, pressing question playing in her mind. "I mean… he must have made some noise."

"I would imagine he did, yeah," said Jasper. He stepped gingerly around a book on the floor. "But your downstairs neighbour was out last night, and no one else heard anything _quite_ that loud…"

"I…" Bella could barely speak. "Wow."

"Can you tell if anything is missing?" prodded Jasper gently, resting against the wall beside her as she tried to make sense of the mess. "I know it's a bit hard to tell, with everything all thrown around, but…"

"No," Bella shook her head, stepping into the center of the room. Her thigh hit the edge of the mattress. "I don't know… Everything's out of place."

"I understand," sighed Jasper, and though Bella could detect a hint of frustration in his voice, she knew instinctively that it was not with her. "Shall we go through it bit by bit?"

"I guess I'll have to," she said faintly. The sun from the window shone in her eyes. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever you feel most comfortable," said Jasper at once. "That corner over _there,"_ he pointed to the furthest corner, where the bed usually rested, "looks barer than the rest of it."

Robotically, with her brother hot on her heels, Bella walked desolately over to the suggested corner. There, she found an open box of clothes—Charlie's clothes that she had salvaged all those months ago in a damp cardboard box from the basement of her Seattle house…

"Dad's stuff." said Bella, nudging the box towards Emmett. "His old shirts."

Emmett did not reach down to take them.

"We can put them in the truck," said Emmett. "If you want to keep them."

"What truck?" Bella frowned.

"I've got a guy coming," said Emmett gently. "I spoke to Marcus while you were asleep…"

" _You_ should have been asleep," chastised Bella. "You were up just as long as I was…"

"I'm not the one who ran a marathon in shitty shoes," retorted Emmett. "Never mind me. While you were asleep, I got Marcus to get a hold of a moving company…"

"Moving?" The word was bitter on her tongue. "Where?"

"Away from here," said Emmett at once, his hands on her shoulders. "I know you're not keen on it, but I'm taking you home with me until we figure this guy out. I can't risk another incident like last night's."

"Sorry." The response was reflexive, and Emmett sighed.

"Don't be _sorry."_ He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her back, letting her lean against his chest. "You didn't do anything wrong."

But she hadn't done anything _right_ , either. He rested his chin on top of her head.

"Until we get everything worked out, I'm going to take you home with me," he repeated. "Like Jasper says… I've got an excellent home security system, I live in a very closely guarded neighbourhood, and if that asshole so much as _looks_ at my house, I'll have the cops on his ass so fast he won't know what hit him."

The plan made sense to her, as much as she wanted to resist. But Emmett had done enough for her… she did not want to impose any more than she already had.

"Just until I get it sorted," said Bella softly. "I don't want to put you out…"

"For Christ's sake, Bella." It was his turn to grow sharp. "I wish you'd _listen_ to me, just once in your life, before you start spewing _bullshit."_

Her temper, already pushed to its breaking point, flared weakly and she pulled free of his grip.

"It's not _bullshit."_ The venom she had tried to infuse died on her tongue. "It's the _truth."_

"Listen…" He wheeled her around to face him. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times—you mean more to me than _anything_ else I have, and I'll be damned if I let that asshole hurt you any more."

"You aren't _letting_ him…"

"You know what I mean. So unless you've got a better plan—and I'm all ears, if you do—I'm going to ask you to put this stubbornness away for a little while and do what's best for _you."_

"I…"

"Leah already knows," said Emmett, "and she's getting a bedroom all set up for you."

"I already _have_ a bedroom," protested Bella. She was angry with herself—the sparkling tears in her eyes would surely be visible for him to see, and she did not want this latest weakness to show itself.

"A shitty guest room," dismissed Emmett. "I've got much nicer rooms than that one. Leah's got good taste. She'll get you all set up."

"But…"

"Stop it."

"Emmett…"

"I _mean_ it, Bella." His sudden sharpness made her falter. He was looking at her in a peculiar, stern way that reminded her so wholly of their father that for the briefest moment, she almost forgot where she was.

"…sorry." The urge to fight—the one that was so feebly, yet valiantly, trying to prevail—fizzled out with a rush of breath.

"Never mind." Emmett was soft once again, and he wiped her stray tear with the pad of his thumb. She pulled away at once, angrily running the back of her hand over her damp eyes. "I'm sorry I made you cry."

Bella simply shook her head.

"But you came to _me_ for help," continued Emmett gently. "So let me _actually_ help you this time."

She sniffled

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good," said Emmett at once, turning a stony eye back to the bedroom. "Now let's get this over with, kiddo. The faster we get this done, the faster we can go home. And I don't know about you, but I'm _dying_ for some breakfast."

The rumbling of her stomach sang her agreement.

* * *

"Don't you worry about a _thing."_ Leah fussed with the cushion under Bella's feet as she passed by the sofa, her arms laden with blankets and a television remote. Her brother—annexed from the living room until Leah was _"sure that his sister was comfortable"_ waited on the sidelines, his lips quirked in an amused, if not a little indulgent, smile.

"I'm not worried. Thanks Leah—"

"Oh of _course_ you're worried!" Leah's voice grew shriller by the moment. "How could you not be, after that horrendous night you had? The nerve of that man… if he can even be _called_ a man. If I see that swine anywhere _near_ this house, I'll just have to show him what's what."

"Leah…"

"No, you hush." She tucked the blanket up under Bella's chin, and Bella, though thoroughly harassed, submitted calmly to the woman's meddling. "Never mind arguing with me—you're just as bad as your brother for _that_ , I think. You can be as independent and stubborn as you'd like enough but for now, you let me mother you a little bit."

"Thanks…"

"Shush, child." She tucked a heating pad under Bella's chilly, wrapped feet. "Never mind, now."

Bella, desperately torn between laughter and tears, felt her cheeks flame red as her brother erupted into silent chuckles in the entrance to the kitchen, his toes barely brushing the threshold. Bella liked Leah—she could not deny that—but the control the housekeeper had over her brother seemed too absolute to be real.

"There, now." Leah turned on the television, settling on a mindless romantic comedy on the Lifetime network. "You just watch something easy while I go and make some dinner. I'll let your brother back in now that you're settled."

"Thanks."

"Never mind."

Bella fell silent.

"So…" Emmett perched himself in an armchair near Bella's head. She craned her neck to see him. "Uh… sorry about her."

"She means well," said Bella, stretching her legs as she snuggled into the soft, warm cocoon that had been created for her.

"I know," said Emmett. "She always means well, but I know she can be a bit overbearing. I won't tell her if you want to sit up."

"And risk her wrath?" said Bella wryly. "I wouldn't dare."

Emmett laughed.

"You learn fast," he said, cracking his neck as he glanced idly at the TV. "I suppose she told you not to change it?"

"Not _exactly,"_ hedged Bella. "Though she did say I was supposed to watch a _mindless romantic comedy."_ Bella only _just_ resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Figures," grumbled Emmett. "I _hate_ rom coms."

"You've starred in like, four of them," protested Bella. "You obviously don't hate them _that_ much."

"I _do_ hate them," said Emmett vehemently. "It's not my fault Marcus got me a few good deals."

"Greedy," teased Bella.

"I kind of was," admitted Emmett, chuckling when Leah came back with a mug of hot cocoa—all for _Bella,_ she insisted. She barely spared Emmett a glance. "There was a time, before I really hit it big, that I would have done almost _anything_ if it would have paid my rent."

Bella grimaced. She knew the feeling.

"Foot in the door?" she guessed.

"You could say that," said Emmett. "Although not even _I_ can bear to watch the final products."

"A lot of people say the same," said Bella quickly. "I read in a magazine that lots of actors hate watching their own stuff. I guess it would be kind of weird…"

"It can be," admitted Emmett. "Especially if it's a, uh…" his cheeks went red, " _sexy_ scene. Luckily all of mine have ended up as extras on the DVD special, but I get to see them all during post."

"Oh _gross,"_ complained Bella, turning her face into the pillow. Emmett guffawed. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," he winked. "But for real. I don't mind watching my action movies—especially not the later stuff—but the rom coms? No way in hell."

"Do you know that Angela dragged me to every one of your movies back in Washington?" said Bella quickly. "Dad would never have let me go if he knew… but Angela was a good liar, for all she was a preacher's kid."

"Really?" Emmett leaned back in his chair.

"Really," said Bella. "Dad never found out, either, but I think he did _suspect…"_

"How so?"

"He caught us coming out of the theater a few times," said Bella quietly. "He never asked what we were seeing, though, and I _know_ he knew your stuff was playing."

"Did _he_ ever watch any of it?"

"Not in front of me," said Bella slowly. "Though I think he _did."_

"Yeah?"

Bella shifted, pulling herself upright. Leah had her back turned to them—she was busying herself over a pot on the stove, and Bella felt that it was safe.

"I caught him once," she admitted. "He would never have fessed up if I asked him, but I'm sure I caught the tail end of _Darkness Falls_ one night after I was supposed to be in bed."

Emmett looked contemplative.

"I wonder what he'd say, if he could see us now," he said.

"I don't know," admitted Bella. The sting that usually accompanied mentions of her father was conspicuously absent—she supposed she was too tired and worn out to feel truly sorry over it just then—and she took that rare, unencumbered moment to give it some real thought.

"He'd be mad," said Emmett, almost too softly for her to hear. "That's for certain. But the question is would he be more _relieved_ than mad?"

"I don't know," said Bella again. "I never really _did_ know. Not with Charlie…"

Emmett rose, shifting himself quickly and smoothly to the sofa seat so recently vacated by her sore feet. She did not protest—he was a soothing, sturdy presence to mitigate her lingering anxiety over the day's events—and she simply waited as he rested a large, warm hand on her leg.

"Well, whatever he would have thought," said Emmett finally, "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here, too," she admitted. And it was the truth—no matter how sore Bella was over her father's decisions and the way he had chosen to handle the schism that had broken them apart, she could not deny that she was grateful to have found her way back to family.

A strange, mechanical buzzing sound from behind them made Bella start, and at once, Emmett was on his feet.

"It's just the gate," he explained, seeing the look of confused alarm on her face. "Someone's asking to come in."

"Who?" Adrenaline rushed up in her again. Though her rational mind knew that James would not ring Emmett's godforsaken _buzzer_ if he wanted in, Bella could not suppress the sudden, overwhelming fear that he had found her out.

"Hello?" Emmett spoke into a panel near the front door, his finger held down on a red button. "Can I help you?"

Bella's heart hammered.

" _It's Alice."_

At once, Bella's panic died down and she slumped, shaky and weak, onto her cushions.

 _What a little fool she was._

"Come on in," said Emmett at once, and she heard the click of another button. The gate was not visible from the sofa—she could only see the side yard through the large window from her vantage point—but she did hear the low rumble of an engine and the familiar slamming of a car door as a vehicle pulled to a halt.

"You want to talk to her? I can keep her away, if you want…" said Emmett quietly, peeking at her over the edge of the sofa. If he noticed her sudden paleness, or the shaky, nervous quality of her voice, he did not comment.

"No." Bella shook her head. "It's only Alice. I'm sure she's worried sick…"

Alice _always_ worried.

"If you say so," said Emmett, just as a knock sounded at the large front door. Bella waited, her lip between her teeth, as she heard her brother letting the newcomer in, the light patter of footsteps echoing through the house until a figure, lithe and slim, loomed over Bella with anxious, tearful eyes.

"Oh _Bella!"_

Alice reached down, her strength startling, and pulled Bella into a fierce and desperate hug.

"I'm so _sorry,"_ she babbled, her hands running over Bella's back. Bella, taken aback, tried to make room for Alice to sit, but Alice only continued to squeeze her tight, her little chin digging into Bella's shoulder.

"Alice, I…"

"I should have _never_ let you go on your own," she lamented. The tips of her feathery hair tickled Bella's cheek. "When Jasper told me what happened, I could have _kicked_ myself. I should have _insisted_ on driving you home… I _knew_ it was foolish even before you _left!_ I just _knew_ something bad would happen, Bella, and I'm so, so _sorry…"_

"Alice…"

"…and I can't _believe_ what happened to your poor feet! You _must_ take time off to let them heal. I won't hear another word about it, Bella, so don't even _think_ of fighting me. I'll pay you your normal wage while you're off—there's no need to worry on _that_ front—but oh _Bella_ I'm so _sorry!"_

She spoke in such vehement italics that Bella, astonished and still queasy from her sudden bout of panic, felt quite wild.

"Alice, _please_ sit," said Bella earnestly, trying to pull the little woman down onto the sofa. Alice resisted—she did not seem to want to let Bella go—but as Bella's thin arms persisted in ushering her down, she finally submitted to be led.

The bright eyes and downturned mouth almost made Bella laugh—only the thought of Alice's hurt kept her from it.

"I'm _fine_ , Alice," she said quickly. "Stop worrying about me."

" _Fine?!"_ The word escaped almost hysterically and the laughter that followed was thin and reedy. "You're the opposite of _fine,_ Missy…"

"Really," said Bella. "It was terrifying last night, but everything is good now." She caught her brother's eye, who had been standing carefully in the doorway during the whole exchange, and shot him such a plaintive stare that he opted to sit next to them.

"She's doing better, Alice," he said gently. "The doctor says her feet will be fine in a few weeks, and she's getting set up here for the time being."

"I should have _insisted_ on driving you," said Alice, ignoring Emmett's interjection. "I should have _made_ you get in my car, and I should have _waited_ to make sure you were safe…"

"You had no way of knowing what was going on," said Bella reasonably. "Really, Alice. You're not a psychic."

"I should have _known!"_ she lamented. Her hands hovered anxiously over Bella's bloodied and bandaged feet. "You had to run, all the way _here_ , and I know that's well over eight miles…"

"I made it," said Bella wryly. "That's all that matters… Nothing bad happened."

"But it was so _close,"_ fretted Alice. "You don't know how awful I'd feel if something terrible _had_ happened to you last night…"

"But it _didn't,"_ said Bella again. Somehow, Alice's anxiety seemed to tame her own. "Nothing terrible happened. My feet got a little torn up, since I wasn't exactly wearing good shoes, but other than that, I'm _fine."_

"Jasper said he destroyed your house."

"Yeah." Bella suppressed a shiver. "He tore my bedroom apart, that's for sure."

"That's so _creepy,"_ complained Alice, her hands gripping Bella's tightly. "That won't ever happen again, Bell. I'm not letting _anyone_ —Tyler included—leave my store without a proper ride home."

Bella winced. She could just _imagine_ the look of annoyance on Tyler's face when he heard this new decree.

"No, I mean it." Alice caught sight of her guilty grimace and quashed it at once. "I can't have anyone else put at risk like that. I'm just happy you're a fighter, Bella. What if it had been Sophie?" Sophie, the high-school girl Alice had hired on cash, was the most timid, submissive little thing Bella had ever seen.

"It _wasn't,"_ said Bella soothingly. "It was me, but I'm fine. I'll _be_ fine."

"I _know,"_ said Alice, her whisper aggrieved, "but I'm still _sorry."_

"You've got nothing to be sorry for."

Alice sighed.

"Well, I brought you _this."_ She reached into her purse, and Bella barked a laugh.

A boxed set of _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy on DVD. It had been some weeks since the friendly disagreement between the two them, but at the sight of the box, it all came rushing back. Bella had never seen the films and didn't care to—Charlie had been so anti-violence in her youth that he would not entertain even the _slightest_ mention of it under his roof—while Alice regarded it as a modern cinematic classic.

"You'll have lots of time to get through them while you're resting," said Alice. "You won't be back at work for a few weeks yet…"

"I can work," said Bella quickly. "I work at the desk, most of the time…"

"Oh no you don't." Emmett chimed in with sudden ferocity. "You know what the doctor said."

"But I _need_ to…"

"You don't," said Emmett at once. "You won't miss the wages while you're here with me, and I sure as hell am not prepared to let your recovery fall by the wayside so you can slave away in an office for hours on end… no offence, Alice."

Alice shook her head.

"He's right, Bella. I can't have you there while you're injured, and I _know_ your feet must be hurting you…"

"I can't just live here for _free_ ," said Bella, ignoring Alice in favor of her brother. She had never even considered the possibility that he would not expect her to pitch in. "I have to do _something..._ "

"What you _have to do,"_ said Emmett, "is sit your ass on that couch and watch your movies so your feet can heal."

"But…"

"We can talk about it later," said Emmett in a tone that boded no argument. "For once in your life, just _relax_ and let someone else handle the logistics."

"I can't just…"

"You _can,_ and you _will,"_ said Emmett. His words sounded so final that the argument, which had been forming so indignantly on her tongue, died away.

 _She would fight him later._

"It should only take a few weeks," said Bella, shamefaced as she turned back to Alice.

"Take all the time you need. Like I said. No wages lost."

"You're not paying me for work I didn't do," said Bella flatly. "That's just outrageous."

"It isn't," said Alice, affronted. "Workplaces do it all the time."

"Not family-run coffee shops," countered Bella. "There's no _way_ you can afford to keep paying me while I'm not even _there."_

"It's my money," said Alice, and Bella caught the sudden glint of challenge in her eyes. "You might be learning my books, but I know better than anyone what I can and can't afford to do."

"Alice, I didn't mean…"

"No, you just stop it right there." Alice squeezed her hand. "You're a valuable employee, and I want you to know that you won't suffer any lost wages on account of my negligence."

"You didn't do _anything_ negligent…"

"I consider it my duty to ensure the safety of my workers," said Alice at once. "And I failed last night."

"You can't keep me safe at home," reasoned Bella. "Honestly, Alice, you've done _nothing_ wrong."

"I have," she insisted. "Maybe not as your boss," she held up a hand to silence Bella's rebuttal, "but as your _friend."_

"Alice…"

"Friends don't let friends leave alone in the dark," said Alice quietly. "I value your friendship, Bella, and it's the least I can do to ensure your pay check while you're recovering."

"I don't think…"

"Well I _do,"_ she said finally. She pressed an impulsive kiss to Bella's cheek. "Never mind my money, or what I do with it. This is my way of making amends, though I _know_ it could never be enough…"

Bella, suddenly wise, bit her tongue.

"Thank you, Alice," she said, "I really appreciate it…"

"You're welcome." She pulled Bella in for another hug. "I'll come by and pick you up sometime. You and I need a girl's night, and it's about time I had you over to the house."

Bella flushed.

"We'll have Rose over, too," finished Alice, the familiar, wide smile back on her face once more. "It'll be a riot."

"I'm sure."

Alice sighed.

"I should get going," she said finally, glancing down at her watch. "I left Tyler in charge, and I'm sure he's just about ready to pull his hair out now that the dinner rush has started…"

"Of course," said Bella. "Thanks for coming, Alice."

"I'll be back," she promised. "Now that I know your brother will let me in, I'm sure I'll be quite the nuisance."

Emmett chuckled.

"We'll welcome the distraction," he said graciously. "Thanks for stopping by, Alice."

"I'll see you soon," she said again, slipping into her high-heeled shoes. "You take care, Bella. And do try and get some rest."

Bella could only chuckle, her head falling heavily against the pillow Leah had scrounged up for her as she gave Alice a timid thumbs-up over the back of the sofa.

 **A/N: My apologies for the late update... as I said during the update for DiTR Part 1, I severely overestimated the amount of time I would have for writing over my Christmas break. I also finalized the outline for this story over the break, and I underestimated the number of chapters it would tell the story properly. My outline has a total of 44 chapters, which means we are just over halfway through. There is still plenty of drama and action to go before we bid farewell to this story!**

 **As always, let me know what you think!**


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

"You're looking much better, Miss Swan. I must say that I'm surprised at how quickly you're healing up."

"She doesn't get around much," quipped Emmett, grinning cheekily when he caught Bella's sour grimace. "She's been under lock and key all week."

"I see Doctor Cullen did a dressing change."

"Yes." Bella flushed pink. "I saw him… last Wednesday?"

"Sounds about right," Emmett tapped his fingers on the counter. "Him and his _nephew._ Do you know him, Doctor?"

"Shut _up,"_ groused Bella. The doctor looked sternly at her over his glasses as he pulled a new dressing from a drawer under the sink.

"I thought I said every _two_ days, Miss Swan." He began unrolling the gauze. "It's imperative that regular dressing changes be a part of your treatment, otherwise I fear that infection will set in…"

"Doctor Cullen said it was fine if I came in twice per week," said Bella quickly. "He saw no reason to worry."

The doctor harrumphed.

"Be that as it may…" He sat himself laboriously on a low-seated stool, his gloved hand taking careful hold of her foot. "I've been working in this field longer than Carlisle Cullen's been _alive._ Just you mind _that_ , young lady."

Bella, surprised, looked askance at her brother.

"Doctor Cullen seems like a fine physician," said Emmett loyally. Bella was sure the doctor did not catch the hint of amusement in his voice—he hid it well, after all—and she could only just hold back her laughter when the old man's face screwed up in distaste.

"Be that as it _may,"_ he said again, "I do not _approve_ of other doctors meddling with my patients."

"You were away," Bella reminded him, grimacing when he slathered her foot in thick, greasy ointment. "I didn't really have much of a choice."

The doctor grunted.

"Well…" He began wrapping her feet in new gauze. "In any case, there was no damage done. _This time."_

"And thank heavens for _that."_

This time, the doctor _definitely_ caught the sarcasm.

"Can we make the dressing a little thinner this time?" asked Bella. "I'd like to be able to wear to my own shoes, and it would be nice if my foot would actually fit in them. I'm getting sick of borrowing my brother's sandals."

"We'll see, young lady," said the doctor. He took hold of her other foot. "But you must be mindful and take care to wear only loose shoes until you're given the all clear. I don't want you cramming your toes into a pair of those godforsaken death traps you girls call footwear."

"I'm not much of a heels girl, myself," said Bella dryly, peering down over the edge of the examination table as the doctor began wrapping her other foot. "More of a sneakers person, if you know what I mean…"

"I'm not sure that I do, young lady…" said the doctor. His voice was so somber that Emmett began to cackle and Bella, flushed red with the effort to keep a straight face, shot him a glare so venomous that he had to turn away.

When she and Emmett made their way out of the doctor's office—each avoiding the other's gaze to prevent a total hysterical meltdown—Bella gave her brother a good, hard _thwack_ on the arm before she rounded on him.

"I cannot _believe_ you!" she cried. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Oh come on!" Emmett was laughing at her, and Bella tried very hard to master her own amusement. She knew it would only encourage him. "What choice did I have? The man is a total Grinch!"

"And as if you brought up Edward!"

"Aw, come on," chuckled Emmett. He slipped into the driver's seat of his Mercedes. "I just wondered if the old guy _knew_ him, that's all…"

"You're a filthy liar," laughed Bella, sitting back in her seat. "You're just a nosy asshole who's mad that he didn't get to say hello."

"I said hello," said Emmett indignantly.

"Just so you know," said Bella, more loftily than she felt, "you scared the shit out of him."

"Good," said Emmett proudly.

Bella rolled her eyes.

" _Where is that damn office?" Emmett had grumbled, his hand laid carefully on the thin fingers clutching at his elbow. Bella did not need him for balance anymore—she was much steadier on her feet than she had been the week before—but there was something comforting about knowing that she was not alone in this white, sterile hallway._

 _She hated doctors._

" _Bella? Is that you?"_

 _When she stopped so did her brother, and though her cheeks were burning hot, she turned to face the familiar voice._

" _Hey, Edward." The name was awkward on her tongue. He looked just as she remembered him—all tousle-haired and lanky, handsome even in his oversized, ragged college sweater. He was grinning foolishly at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and in that one, long moment of awkwardness, she almost forgot about her brother standing just beside her._

" _Bella?" The sound of him jolted the two of them back to the present. "Who's this?"_

" _Oh, uh…" Edwards grin faltered, if only slightly, as he met Emmett's gaze. The boy might be tall but Emmett had him beat, and when he reached out a brave hand towards her brother, Emmett spent an inordinately long moment staring at it before he finally reached out and took it. Bella saw the muscles in his arm flex._

" _You are?" prompted Emmett rudely, his eyes narrowed._

" _Edward," said the newcomer. Bella was surprised he didn't wince. "I know Bella from her work."_

" _Mhm."_

" _You must be her brother," said Edward, pulling his hand away with some difficulty. "She mentioned you."_

" _I'm sure she did."_

 _Bella kicked him._

" _Uh… yeah. But anyways…" Edward's neck flushed. "It's nice to see you."_

" _You too," said Bella at once._

 _Emmett tugged at her sleeve._

" _We're going to be late, Bella. You can talk to your friend later."_

" _Are you looking for my uncle?" queried Edward, perking up. "He's right down there. His office is just to the left…"_

" _Who's your uncle?" asked Emmett rather abruptly._

" _Doctor Cullen," chirped Edward. "Carlisle Cullen."_

 _Emmett grunted._

" _Come on down here, then, Bella."_

" _I'm coming… Just give me a second to walk him back?"_

" _I'm sure the kid knows where he's going," snarked Emmett. "He found his way in here easily enough, I'm sure he can find his way out."_

" _Hey, uh…" Bella stopped when Edward reached for her free hand. Emmett, all temper and suspicion, tightened his grip on the one he had, which was tucked in his elbow._

" _Stop it," complained Bella, pulling free. "Honestly… sometimes I wonder if you're not a Neanderthal."_

 _Emmett crossed his arms and leaned impatiently against the wall, his eyes never leaving the worried, anxious face of the new boy._

 _Bella could have killed him._

" _Alice told me about your feet," said Edward gently. "I came looking for you at the café, but she said you were off…"_

" _Yeah, for a few weeks yet," said Bella. "Until I've been freed by my_ jailor."

 _Bella glared at her brother. Emmett pointedly cleared his throat._

" _Yeah, well…" Edward refused to meet Emmett's insistent stare. "I hope you feel better. When you're back to work, I'll have to steal you for another coffee break."_

" _Sure."_

" _Feel better."_

" _I will."_

" _And… there's my uncle."_

" _Ah, Miss Swan!" The familiar, jovial voice of Doctor Cullen flooded the hallway. Bella took a careful step back, purposefully avoiding her brother's accusing stare, and turned towards the doctor._

" _I see you've found my two o'clock, Edward. How are you, Bella? I didn't realize you and my nephew were acquainted."_

" _I know him from work," Bella was quick to explain. "He was just directing us."_

" _Yeah, I'm sure that's_ exactly _what he was doing…" Emmett's grumble was just loud enough for her to hear._

 _Bella stomped on his toe._

"You're an ape," said Bella disgustedly, though the amusement in her eyes belied her true sentiment. Although it annoyed her to no end to think that her brother—her big, gregarious, jovial brother—had decided to take on the role of overprotective oaf, she could not begrudge him the suspicion or caution he took in the face of strange men.

After all, last time Bella had decided to trust a stranger had been a grievous error in judgment.

"Baaa…" his mouth was obnoxiously close to her ear, and she jumped.

"What?"

"Naaa…" His hot breath washed over her cheek.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Naaa!"

"Stop it!" she squealed, darting away as his waggling tongue came precariously close to her face. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Banana!" he repeated. His oafish, slack-jawed, face made her giggle despite herself, and she shook her head. "That's what apes eat, isn't it?"

"There really _is_ something wrong with you," she complained. She shifted out of his reach.

" _There really_ is _something wrong with you,"_ he repeated in a high, girlish voice.

"What?"

" _What?"_

"Stop it."

" _Stop it!"_

"You're ridiculous."

"You're _ridiculous!"_

"How old are you? Five?"

"And a half," returned Emmett, affronted. "Honestly, Bella. Give a man his due."

"Yeah, I'll give you what you're due, all right…"

"Oh, you think so, little girl? And what might that be?"

"A swift kick in the—"

"Hey now…" Emmett turned the car rather sharply, and Bella, caught off guard, fell into the door. He snickered when she glowered. "Be nice to your poor brother."

"You're far from poor," she groused. "Have you seen your house?"

"Oh, how young you are, little one…"

"What?"

"Being _poor,_ " drawled Emmett, "is not always about _money."_

"What is it about, then?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't think a lonely man can be truly rich."

"Are you lonely?" she asked skeptically, refusing to bite this philosophical bait.

"Not particularly."

"Didn't think so."

"Though…" His hand crawled over the center console as he pulled to a stop at a red light. "I could _always_ use a hug…"

"So call Rosalie," was Bella's reply. "I'm sure she'd be glad to give you much more than a _hug."_

"That's cold, kid," laughed Emmett, turning onto the main road that would lead them home. "Stone cold."

Bella shook her head.

"What else is on the roster for today?" asked Bella. "Besides annoying your sister half to death?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Emmett. "That sounded like a pretty good plan to me."

"Yeah, I'm sure it did…"

He sniggered.

"Marcus might stop by tonight for dinner," he replied. "He's got some scripts for me to look at, and I've got to get my premiere business sorted out."

"Premiere?" Bella perked up in her seat.

"For that movie I finished last year," he explained. "They're almost done post-production, and the studio is planning an end-of-year release date. I haven't done any promotional work for it at all, but they're insisting that I at least attend the premiere. The people expect to see my ugly mug, though God only knows why…"

"Nice," said Bella. She did not fully understand the inner workings of the film industry, but she trusted her brother to know what he was talking about.

"Normally, I'd be on tour right now," said Emmett idly. "Right before a film premiers, they like to pack me up and ship me off to talk shows and promotional events."

Bella, going pink, did not reply. She knew that it was her fault—she was the reason Emmett had turned down these lucrative, money-making gigs all throughout the summer and now, moving into fall…

"Don't," he warned, catching the look on her face. "Don't you go feeling guilty. I'll admit, when I first ran off and shirked my duties, I was too concerned about what you were up to to really care much for the break. But lately, I find myself rather enjoying my time at home. Do you know, this is probably the longest period of time I've spent in L.A. since the infamous dry spell of 2008."

"The what?"

Emmett smirked.

"Right after _Darkness Falls,"_ he explained, "I hit a bit of a dry spot. I was in high demand, but nothing could be timed just right. I had another project starting in the spring of '09—I had agreed to that long before the first _D.F._ movie ever crossed my desk—and so I was officially unemployed for almost a year between the last release date and the start of my new project."

"How sad," deadpanned Bella.

"Right?"

He turned another corner. They drove in silence until they hit the intersection that would lead them down Emmett's long, meandering street.

"So…"

"So?" Bella chirped.

"What's the plan for this afternoon?" asked Emmett. "It's a few hours yet until Marcus comes—you're welcome to either sit in or chill on your own when he does, no pressure either way—but that won't be until dinnertime. Right now, it's barely time for lunch …"

"I don't know," sighed Bella. "I might go snooping."

"Oh, do tell." Emmett waggled his eyebrows. "What could you possibly want to snoop through at my humble abode?"

"I've never been in your basement," shrugged Bella. Emmett's house was vast and sprawling, and even after Emmett had given her his blessing to explore to her heart's content, it had taken her quite some time to get used to the layout. Whenever she thought she had figured out one level, she would always find some unexplored room she had missed the last time around. When Emmett had renovated it, he had decided not on a single set of stairs traversing each level of the house, but instead on a plethora of small, split-level stairs leading to various parts of the house. As such, when Bella was learning its strange layout, she could never quite figure out just what floor she was on.

"Very exciting," deadpanned Emmett. "Who knows? You might even find some old dust bunnies down there. You could probably sell them on eBay. I'm sure some deranged fangirl would pay for them…"

The smile that had been hovering around his lips since they had left the medical center slipped from his face as his sentence fell short. It took Bella a minute to catch on—Emmett was in such a playful, mischievous mood that she was not immediately sure he was not joking around—but when she followed his narrowed gaze to the outside of his locked and secure gate, her stomach twisted.

"What the hell do they want now?"

"It's only Jasper," reasoned Bella, her voice calmer than she felt. She was not wrong—leaning up against the radiating heat of his cruiser was Jasper, his uniform impeccably pressed and his hat in his hand, fanning his face. Bella could see the sheen of sweat on his brow. It was a scorching day, and she wondered why he would not be waiting in the car instead.

"He's in uniform," said Emmett pointedly. "It's not a social call."

"Maybe he's the one on guard duty."

"There's only one of him."

"There's only _ever_ one of him," reasoned Bella.

"There's never only one cop on duty _,"_ corrected Emmett. "They always work in pairs."

"He doesn't look worried."

"Jasper _never_ looks worried."

"Maybe he's just saying hi." This was a stretch and Bella knew it.

"Unless he's here to tell us that they caught that scumbag…"

"Jasper would have called the cell if that was the case," said Bella. "And there would be no need for him to drive all the way out here in _uniform_ to do it…"

Emmett rolled down his window, and at once the heat from the sun blew in on a dusty, tepid breeze. Bella felt herself break into a sweat—she _hated_ this dry heat—and wished Emmett would roll it back up.

"Hey, man." She was relieved when Emmett kept his voice light. "Look out. I'll open the gate."

At once, Jasper hopped back into his car and backed out behind them, piggybacking through the gate on Emmett's tail. Bella wondered where Jasper's partner could be—never before had she seen him on duty, alone in his vehicle—and only when Emmett turned the car off, letting the growling engine fall silent, did Bella release a breath.

"We'd better see what he wants," she sighed. "Probably more paperwork…"

"Yeah." Emmett looked surly again. "Come on inside, Bell. You'll melt out here if you stay outside too long."

The three of them—Emmett and Bella in the lead—made their way carefully into the air conditioned, softly lit house. Jasper made small talk as they walked—he asked about her feet, and told her about the goings on at the café—and it was only when they had seated themselves rather stiffly at the dining table that things grew awkward.

"You… want a drink, man?" asked Emmett, breaking the tension. "I've got water and Bella grabbed some O.J. last night, or I could put some coffee on, though it's a bit hot for that…"

"Water would be great, thanks."

"Great." Emmett rose, silent and smooth, and fled to the kitchen.

"So…"

Bella, her lip between her teeth, stared at Jasper.

"How've you been?"

"Good," said Bella.

"Still feeling sick?"

"No…" Bella flushed pink. "I'm all better now."

"Good, good…"

Just that weekend, Bella had spent the night at Alice and Jasper's house, and due to the three glasses of wine Alice had poured her, Bella had woken the next morning with a killer headache. Alice had laughed at her when she had come stumbling downstairs as the sun crept ever higher and Rose, who had consumed at least two glasses more than Bella, had woken at dawn and had already completed her morning run by the time Bella crawled out of bed.

"Here you go." Emmett plunked a frosty water bottle down in front of Jasper.

He took a long swig.

"Thank you," he sighed. "Now…"

"Why are you in uniform?" asked Bella.

"I'm working," said Jasper easily. "I'm not supposed to take it off until I'm done my shift."

"Why are you here if you're working?"

"I've come to ask you a question."

"A question?" Bella sat back in her seat. "What kind of question?"

"One that you're free to say no to," said Jasper, a little hesitant. "You're under no obligation."

"What?"

"Now, I don't want to upset you…"

"You won't," said Bella quickly. "What is it, Jasper?"

"No one will think any less of you if you say no."

"I _know…"_

"Just spit it out, man, whatever it is," said Emmett, finally running out of patience. Her brother was torn—he had no desire to allow any more police business into their life until the man behind the terror was caught, but he also knew that if he was openly rude to Rosalie's brother, Rosalie would hand him his ass the next time she saw him.

"I've been dispatched to ask a, uh…" he pursed his lips, "… _favour_ of you."

"What kind of favour?" cautioned Bella.

"One that might help us get a lock on James," said Jasper. "There's been no sign of him, though we've got a license plate number for that car he drives, and there are cops cruising all through Chinatown…"

"The police have no idea what he looks like," said Bella. "How can you hope to find him if you don't know his face?"

"That's exactly it," said Jasper. He seemed to perk up at her words. "You're exactly right. None of my men can _see_ James' face."

"Right…" Bella raised her eyebrows. "So what…?"

"The sergeant wants a sketch," said Jasper at once. "He wants to know if you'll come to the station with me to sit with the artist, and together you and he can come up with a composite for our officers to use."

Bella felt queasy.

"I…" The flash of memory—that pale, angry face hiding in her black bedroom—coursed through her, and all at once, her mouth went dry.

"Man, hasn't she given you enough?" asked Emmett, though Bella noted a distinct lack of hostility in his voice. "She gave you her fingerprints, let you guys traipse all over her house… Hell, she even _moved_ based on _your_ suggestion."

"The sooner we find him, the sooner she can get back to normal," said Jasper gently. "I want what's best for Bella, believe me, but we can't make progress if we can't get our hands on James."

"What if it doesn't work? What good will it do then?"

"Our artist will work with her to get it right," said Jasper softly. "He's one of the only sketch artists in the city that work in colour, which adds quite a bit of realism, and he's very professional. Bella will be in good hands with him, I can assure you…"

"Bella needs rest," said Emmett softly. "The doctors says so. She's been having a rough time since the incident, and…"

Bella started. She had not realized that Emmett had noticed her bouts of fear whenever James was brought up.

" _Bella,"_ she interrupted gently, "is right here. And she can hear you."

"Sorry kid," said Emmett, his attention turning at once to her. "Of course, it's up to you. I wish you'd take some time to rest, but…"

"But Jasper's right." Bella finished his unspoken thought. "If I'm ever going to be able to live my life, I need to make sure he's behind bars."

 _For if she didn't,_ she thought, _that man would surely haunt her until her dying day._

"My thoughts exactly," said Jasper. "We also have some ideas on how to find his residence…"

"I don't remember where the house is," said Bella honestly. "All I know is what it _looks_ like, and that's no help… they were all cookie-cutter houses with tiny little yards, all squished close together. And what a great help that is—I've just described half the townhouses in the city."

"No, I know," said Jasper quickly. "I never meant to imply you were hiding anything…"

Bella sighed, rubbing her temples. Every time she started to think too hard about James or his sordid business, she felt the beginnings of a headache.

"Will you come down to the station with me?" asked Jasper. "I'd like to let you discuss it all here, but my supervisors would have my ass if I didn't keep a proper record. They'd like to do it in an interview room with the cameras set up, so they can use it as evidence if and when we eventually nab him."

"I guess so," said Bella, before Emmett could protest any further. "If you'll drive me, that is." She eyed her brother.

"I can bring you with me, if your brother has something else to do," said Jasper quickly. "And furthermore, if _you_ have something else that you need to do today, I'd be happy find a date that works better."

Bella, uncertain, glanced at her brother.

"I'm always free for you," said Emmett easily. "Just say when."

The sudden pulse of nausea, so common whenever she felt anxious, was quick to rise. Her good mood was squashed—killed in its cradle before she could really enjoy it—and for what? She had been having such a good, easy day… for the first time in two weeks, James had not been on her mind and her brother—so calm and easy-going—had been transformed into the teasing, incorrigible man-child she had been missing. There was no thought of the predator on her mind, no worry that he might show up, ready to menace and taunt…

But here he was again, lurking behind her like a specter, ready to lure her back to that frightful, bitter place in which he so loved to hold her.

"No time like the present," she sighed, rising to her feet. "Let me see if I can actually get my shoes on."

* * *

" _Now, Isabella…"_ Emmett sat stiffly in the cold, plastic chair, staring at the grainy computer monitor, his ears trained carefully on the echoing voice emanating from the speakers. He had been waiting here for almost half an hour—he was already two coffees in—and only now were things finally beginning to heat up.

" _I'd like you to describe the first time you met James."_

" _Is that really necessary?"_ Even through the monitor, Bella sounded tired. _"I've already told you…"_

" _I know."_ The old artist seemed kind, at least, and that was more than Emmett could have hoped for. _"But indulge me."_

Bella, slouching back in her seat, gave a great sigh.

" _Who's watching this?"_ she asked suddenly. _"There has to be someone on the other end of that camera, right?"_

Her eyes, wide and bright, flickered briefly to the lens and for one short moment, Emmett felt as if she could actually see him.

" _Your brother, Officer Whitlock, and our resident technician, Gerry."_

"That's me," deadpanned the heavy, thickset man whose sole purpose seemed to be to adjust the volume when Bella's voice grew too soft.

Emmett took another sip of tepid coffee. Jasper, grimacing at Emmett's cup with particular distaste, seemed neither bothered nor interested in Gerry. His eyes, fixed on the same screen Emmett was watching, were narrowed.

" _Now then,"_ said the artist. _"Close your eyes. That-a girl… Now, tell me about the first time you met James."_

" _I was walking,"_ said Bella at once. _"It was cloudy and starting to rain…"_

The man began to sketch.

" _Were you in an industrial or residential neighbourhood?"_

" _Residential."_

" _Were you happy?"_

" _Not particularly."_

" _Why not?"_ The pencil stopped, and Bella's eyes snapped open.

" _Because I was cold and broke."_ Emmett recognized defensiveness almost at once. _"I had no way of knowing where I was, or where I was going to go, or what the hell I was going to_ do…"

" _That must have been quite frightening."_

When her eyes narrowed, Emmett couldn't help his dark laughter.

"She's going to eat that man alive," he remarked idly. Jasper gave a small shrug.

"Horace is very good at what he does… he can handle even the most sensitive of witnesses with tact."

"I don't doubt his tact," said Emmett quickly, "but I also don't doubt my sister's bullshit detector. That thing is going off like a siren right about now."

"There's nothing akin to _bullshit_ going on in that room, I can assure you," said Jasper. "His methods might seem juvenile—most adults feel that way before they really understand what the session is all about—but what Horace does? It works."

"What is the 'session all about'?" asked Emmett idly. Horace had Bella close her eyes again. "This isn't some kind of weird, new age bullshit, is it?"

"Not at all," laughed Jasper. "It's just like I said at the house… Horace wants to get an accurate picture."

"So shouldn't she describe his face?" asked Emmett. The question, though he did not mean it to, sounded rude and abrasive.

"We'll get there," said Jasper, purposefully ignoring the incivility. "A person's memory is like a sieve—it's notoriously fickle."

"So why even bother?"

"What Horace does is pull those memories out before they're lost to time. He wants to set the scene _just_ right… if he doesn't, there's a good chance that what Bella remembers won't be as accurate as it could be."

"She knows what that asshole looks like, Jasper," said Emmett ruefully. "I know she does. Every time my buzzer rings, I see it in her face. She remembers him then, and I know for a fact that if I were brave enough to ask her, she could tell me the _exact_ shade of that man's eyes when she saw them watching her the other night."

"Hypervigilance is to be expected. Victims of trauma—especially something like an assault or a home invasion—often find it difficult to cope with anything sudden or abrupt…"

"It's a buzzer for my gate, not a goddamn nuclear explosion," said Emmett crossly. Jasper clicked his tongue, his lips pursed.

"It's to be expected," he repeated. "It might not make sense to you, but trust me. I've seen all kinds of horror working this job and I know how hard it can be for people to get back to normal. If you don't believe me, ask my sister. She's seen enough of it to know how it can be."

"It's not that I don't believe you," said Emmett quickly. "It just… bothers me. That's all."

"As well it might."

"I just hope to god you guys find him," continued Emmett. "Because I don't think she's ever going to find real peace until you do."

When Jasper's hand—unfamiliar and warm—clapped his shoulder, Emmett did not shrug him off.

"… _and what colour was it?"_

" _Red,"_ said Bella at once.

"What did he ask her?" Emmett strained to hear, prompting Gerry to turn up the volume again.

"The colour of the perp's shirt," intoned Gerry.

" _Red,"_ said Horace, and Emmett watched him select a pencil. _"Red like this,"_ he flashed a crimson one at her, " _or red like_ this?" He held up another that leaned more towards orange.

Bella pointed roughly at the first one.

" _Excellent,"_ said Horace. _"Thank you."_

He began to sketch with it.

" _Now, tell me about the man's face."_

" _What about it?"_ asked Bella. _"It was a face."_

" _Ah, but all faces are unique,"_ said the artist with a wink. Emmett leaned in closer to see the screen. _"What shape was it?"_

" _I don't know…"_ Emmett recognized her annoyance at once. _"Aren't faces round?"_

" _Was his forehead flat?"_

" _I guess so…"_

The man scribbled.

" _Did he have a soft or hard jaw?"_

" _Sort of… chiseled?"_ said Bella awkwardly. _"And square."_

" _Excellent… prominent cheekbones?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Was his face more squat or elongated?"_

" _He has a long face,"_ said Bella, her eyes falling closed once again _. "And a long nose…"_

" _Describe that nose for me."_

" _Long,"_ said Bella again. _"With a bump in the bridge… as if he'd broken it."_

" _Narrow or wide?"_

" _Narrow."_

" _Good…"_ Horace was sketching like a madman. _"What about his chin?"_

" _Pointed from the front,"_ said Bella, only the slightest hint of a quaver in her voice. _"But round from the side."_

" _Cleft?"_

" _No."_

" _Rounded cheeks?"_

" _No, skinny…"_

" _Skinny? Or sunken?"_

" _Sunken,"_ said Bella quickly.

Horace drew.

" _Is he good looking?"_

Bella balked, but her short, curt nod was answer enough.

" _Now tell me about the most prominent feature on that face. For some, it's the nose. Others say the lips…"_

" _His eyes,"_ said Bella at once, and Emmett could have sworn he saw a shiver course down her spine. _"They were so piercing… and I could always tell he was angry when they'd get that weird, hard glint."_

" _And you told me they're blue?""_

" _Yes."_

" _What shade of blue?"_

The bubble of calm that had formed around her seemed to pop and Emmett watched with an unbidden smile as she cracked an eye open, her mouth curled in distaste.

" _What do you mean, what shade? They were blue. Like… blue,"_ she finished lamely.

" _I'm sorry…"_ chuckled the artist. _"I should have been more precise. There are different shades of blue when it comes to eyes. Some are bright, others are very pigmented and rich, and some can look almost black if you catch them in the right light."_

" _His were just… blue,"_ said Bella again. _"They were piercing because of the way he looked at you, not so much because of the colour."_

" _Would you say sky blue or a darker blue?"_ asked the man. Bella screwed up her nose.

" _Somewhere in the middle, I guess?"_ she hedged. _"They weren't bright enough to be_ sky _blue, and they definitely weren't anything close to dark."_

" _Periwinkle, perhaps?"_

" _What?"_

The man held out a selection of blue and grey pencils, and Bella blinked, surprised.

" _Which one?"_ asked Horace. _"Choose the closest, if you can't decide on an exact shade. Or feel free to mix some together, if that suits you…"_

Bella, careful and hesitant, reached out and selected two separate crayons—one, Emmett knew, was the aforementioned periwinkle the artist had suggested before and the other was a sinister, steely silver.

" _Thank you,"_ said the man. _"Were the eyes even?"_

" _Yes…"_

" _One wasn't bigger than the other? Or off balance with the rest of the face?"_

" _Not that I can remember."_

The man coloured.

"How long does this usually take?" asked Emmett, glancing down at his watch. They had been at it for almost an hour.

" _What about his lips?"_

" _Thick enough, I suppose, but not so much that…"_

"They're on track," said Jasper quietly. "It all depends on how willing the witness is. Bella's pretty open, considering, and it helps that she's an adult."

"Does he often work with kids?" asked Emmett, suddenly subdued. The thought of a child—a frightened, confused, and traumatized child—being left alone with a stranger in a sterile, controlled environment like the one on the other end of that screen made him sick.

"Occasionally," said Jasper. "Kids often make the best witnesses, since they're so unbiased."

"That's wrong," said Emmett at once.

"We usually get good sketches from them," said Jasper softly, "but they take forever. Bella's doing quite well, and Horace is almost done."

"How can you tell?"

"He's drawing the hair," explained Jasper, pointing to the yellow pencil the man was using to shade. Emmett could not make out the drawing—the image on the monitor was too grainy—but the long pencil strokes he was making could not be mistaken.

"He always does hair last, since its so often changed anyways," said Jasper. "Bella told me that James had a long ponytail when she was with him, but that's so easy for him to cut. And if he's got any brains left in him, he _will_ cut it to avoid detection, so Horace finds it most important to focus on the face, rather than his fashion choices."

"I see…"

" _Here we go, then, Miss Bella,"_ said Horace gently, and Emmett glanced back to the monitor just in time to see the man hand Bella his large, thick pad of paper. He could not make out Bella's face in any great detail—the screen was simply too pixelated for that level of precision—but when her eyes fell on the image the artist had drawn out, not even the old monitor could conceal her sudden pallor.

" _That's him,"_ she said, her voice shaking. _"That's James."_

As she thrust the pad back at the artist—the man took it graciously from her trembling fingers—Emmett heard Jasper's sharp sigh.

"Good girl, Bella," he muttered. "Let's go, Emmett. We've got one more matter to clear up and then you can take her home."

"She's going to have nightmares tonight," said Emmett anxiously, following Jasper down a long, narrow corridor. "She thinks I don't see it, but I do… I hear her crying sometimes, though she thinks I don't notice."

"It's natural, in cases like these," said Jasper. "I'm surprised she hasn't had them more often. She's had a rough time of it and like you said… she's hypervigilant. That's bound to manifest itself somehow during sleep…"

When they stopped outside a door—the black, stencilled letters on the frosted glass read "Interview Room 3"—Jasper rapped a quick knock on the wooden frame and peeked inside.

"We can wrap it here, Horace," said Jasper. "Thanks for all your help."

"I'm glad to do it," said the man, offering Emmett nothing more than a perfunctory nod as he shook Jasper's hand. "That little girl did a good job. We got quite a good likeness…"

Unable to help himself, Emmett glanced over Jasper's shoulder to the table, where the pad of drawing paper sat open. The man on the page shocked Emmett—not because he had seen him before or because of any great defining detail, but because of the sheer lack of distinction. Emmett was not sure what he had expected—some kind of monster, perhaps, or a beastly, hideous excuse for a man. He had expected the outside to match the inside—for the cruel, domineering, perverse nature to be reflected by some equally horrifying exterior, but instead, the face that stared up at him was so exceedingly average that Emmett had to take a moment to stare.

"Come here, Bella," he said finally, shifting his gaze instead to the girl still curled on the chair, her head resting on her arms as she looked pointedly away. She would not look at that picture any longer than she had to, and Emmett did not blame her for it.

"Are we done?" she asked, and Emmett was displeased to see a certain lag in her step. She let him hug her when she got close enough.

"You tired?" he guessed, carefully positioning himself between her and the drawing as Jasper bid farewell to the artist. "You look done in."

"I've got a headache," was all she said.

"No doubt." He kissed her hair. "I was exhausted just listening to those questions, and I can't even _imagine_ what it would have been like to sit there, having to answer them…"

Bella said nothing.

"I've got one more task for you, and then I'll let you go for the day," said Jasper quietly. He collected the sketch pad carefully from the table and flipped the cover to hide the illustrated face.

"What?" asked Bella wearily.

"We have an idea that might help us figure out the location of the house," said Jasper. "We've been using some mapping software to try and figure out which route you might have taken to get into town, and if we're successful, we'll be able to narrow down a neighbourhood for that townhouse."

"Oh." Bella squeezed Emmett's hand almost reactively.

"Are you too tired?" asked Jasper gently. "You can say no, Bella… we could do it another day, when you're feeling more up to it."

"I'm fine."

 _Liar…_

"Don't push it, Bella," warned Emmett softly. "If you overdo it, you're bound to burn out."

"I've done nothing all week," she protested. "I won't _burn out."_

"You've had a lot on your plate."

She grunted.

"My boss is waiting in a conference room," said Jasper slowly. His eyes raked her over, taking careful stock of the slouched shoulders and downcast face. "But we can do it another day."

"No," said Bella again. "I'd like to get it over with."

"It's bound to be easier than the sketch," said Jasper softly. "Nothing but logistical questions this time."

She nodded.

Emmett wished she would throw in the towel.

"Do we have time?" she asked.

"Time?"

"Before we need to get home," she said, her voice small. "Isn't Marcus coming by?"

"He can wait," dismissed Emmett, shaking his head. "I know he'd understand…"

"No," said Bella. "You've gone out of your way enough for me today…"

"It's no trouble," said Emmett, a sharp rebuke poised on the end of his tongue. _If she started the blame game again…_

"It _is_ trouble," she said matter-of-factly, "but I thank you for it."

Emmett scowled.

"It's _not_ trouble," he insisted. "You didn't _make_ me do anything…"

"But you _did_ do it," she returned. "But this is besides the point. When's Marcus coming?"

"Seven," said Emmett, reluctant.

"And what time is it now?"

"Three."

"Do we have time, Jasper?" asked Bella, turning to him instead. "Will we have enough time to get back to Beverly Hills before seven?"

"I sure hope so," said Jasper, a kind smile crossing his lips. "I have no intention of staying past five, and that's including the time the Sergeant and I need go through your statements."

"Then let's go," she said.

"We can come back another day, Bella…"

"No, Em," she said again, and this time, Emmett picked up a hint of frustration. "I don't _want_ to come back. I want to get it over with so I can just _go home…_ "

"Okay…" He raised his hands in surrender.

"I just want to get it done. Figure out the map, answer the questions, and then go home so I can finally hear myself _think."_

" _Okay,"_ repeated Emmett. "Forget I said anything."

Bella bit her lip.

"I don't mean to be rude…"

"You're not rude."

She sighed, ducking her head.

"Can we go, Jasper?" she asked, almost begging. "I'd really like to get going."

"Of course. Just follow me to the front…"

Bella obeyed and despite her insistence, Emmett could feel the tension rolling off of her in waves. She held tight to his hand, her little, thin fingers squeezing around his fist, and her sharp, ragged nails digging into his palm. When they came to the front desk, Jasper, who was still holding the pad of drawing paper, handed it off to the receptionist for safekeeping before he led them back behind the counter to a conference room. The room was dim—someone had turned out all the lights and the slatted blinds were closed against the penetrating sunlight. Only a brightly-lit computer screen, illuminating the face of the tall, imposing figure installed at the head of a round table, and the white light emanating from the projector screen on the wall made the room visible.

"Bella, Emmett, this is Sergeant Wilkens," said Jasper quickly, introducing them to the strange man in his formidable suit. The man—Wilkens—shook hands with each of them in turn, his attention fixed most interestedly on Bella, who could barely meet his gaze.

"I'd like to thank you for your time, Miss Swan. I'm sure your contribution will be a great help to us."

"Uh… yeah." Bella cleared her throat. "Thanks for having me."

She sat in the seat directly next to Emmett.

"I just want to assure you," said the Sergeant, "that we are doing our utmost to make sure we catch the man responsible for these crimes."

"I know," said Bella. "Jasper says we're looking at maps?

"Correct," said the Sergeant, and Emmett saw Bella relax when the man's eyes roved over to the projector screen and away from her. He slid the laptop towards Jasper.

"We've done some digging on your whereabouts."

Bella blinked.

"Before you made it to the women's shelter, of course," he clarified. "We know where you've been since then. No… what we're interested in is the time between your eviction in Seattle and your arrival at Cedar Sinai hospital on the afternoon of April 6."

"I see." Bella's face, hot and red, rested against Emmett's shoulder.

"I understand that you drove the entire way from Washington?"

"Yes…" Bella glanced up as Jasper, manning the map and projector, narrowed in on the north end of the city.

"Can you retrace your steps for us?"

"I…" Bella frowned. "I drove down from Seattle…"

"Which road did you take?"

"The I-5."

Jasper narrowed in further.

"Did you deviate from the I-5 during your trip?"

"No," said Bella at once. "I wasn't confident I'd even make it here. I didn't want to complicate matters by getting off on the wrong exit."

Sergeant Wilkens grunted.

"You know," he began, "our first instinct was to contact the towing company that had your truck removed from that parking lot back in April."

Bella sniffled.

"We almost made it, too… we were about two weeks too late."

"Too late for what?" asked Emmett.

The Sergeant's sharp eyes flashed at him.

"Too late for records," he replied. "The good folks who run the place only keep their records on file for three months after the vehicle has been cleared from their lot. Those records have everything from the time and location of the pickup, time spent in impound, condition of the vehicle upon arrival, attending tow truck driver…"

Bella began to bite her lip.

"We got there too late," said the Sergeant again. "If we hadn't, we might not have to go through this whole rigmarole."

"The I-5," said Jasper suddenly, cutting in as the Sergeant began to grow surly. It seemed that he, too, had noticed Bella's sudden and poignant discomfort, and Emmett said a silent _thank you_ when the Sergeant's attention shifted back to the map.

"Where did you stop next?" he queried.

"I, uh…" Bella, trying to hide her face from him, wiped surreptitiously at her suddenly bright eyes. "IHOP."

"IHOP?" Wilkens raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," said Bella. "I slept in the parking lot."

"Which one?" Jasper typed the franchise into the search box and to Emmett's astonishment, at least fifteen red dots cropped up all over the north end.

"I… don't know." Bella's voice was small.

"Do you remember any road signs? Other franchises nearby?"

"No…" She sniffled again, and Emmett wished he had thought to bring tissues. "There was a McDonald's…"

The Sergeant snorted.

"Wonderful," he deadpanned. "IHOP and McDonald's. Might as well be any corner of any street in all of Los Angeles."

When a sad, angry little tear coursed down her pale cheek, Emmett reached down and took her hand firmly in his. He did not appreciate the Sergeant's prickly attitude whatsoever, and before he could reach out to wipe the tear away, Bella swiped roughly over her cheek with the back of her free hand.

Jasper set a box of office-grade tissues in front of her.

"We don't mean to be harsh." He looked askance at his supervisor. "We're just hoping for a lead."

Bella said nothing.

"So IHOP, then McDonalds… where did you go next?"

"A library." Her words were almost too soft to hear.

"A library?" The Sergeant sat up a little straighter. "Can you tell me the name of _that_ , at least?"

"The Brand Library," she replied. Jasper typed furiously. "It was small, and not many people were there…"

"How long did you drive?" asked Sergeant Wilkens. "Between McDonald's and the library?"

"An hour or two," said Bella carefully, "I'm not sure, exactly. There was traffic, and I wasn't sure where I was going…"

"Burbank," said Jasper triumphantly, his mouse pointer hovering over the lone, red dot that had appeared after his search. "There's a Brand Library in Burbank."

The Sergeant grinned.

"I'd argue she started in San Fernando, then," he reasoned. Bella frowned. "The I-5 comes in there, there's an IHOP just as you come off the interstate, and there are McDonald's outlets all over the place…"

"Where to next, Bella?" It was Jasper who spoke this time. "Lead the way."

Bella shifted uncomfortably.

"I… don't know," she said. The worried glance she shot at the Sergeant made Emmett's blood boil. "I just kind of… drove."

"Drove where?"

"I don't know."

"North or south?" asked the Sergeant. "Did you go back up San Fernando way, or head deeper into L.A.?"

"South, I think…" said Bella carefully. "I didn't end up back where I came from, in any case."

She began to pick at her cuticles. Emmett took her hand firmly in his own so she would not draw blood.

"What did you see when you drove south?"

"Buildings," said Bella. "All kinds of buildings."

"What did they _look_ like?"

"I don't know…" She shook her head. "Tall. Grey."

The Sergeant's nostrils flared.

"Did you see any more franchises?"

"Sure… McDonald's again," Bella pulled her hand free from Emmett's, using her fingers to count. "A sushi joint, a few sandwich shops…"

"Great. Sushi in Los Angeles. Sounds like every single goddamn corner on every goddamn street in this entire goddamn town!" His voice, angry and short, grew louder with each expletive and Bella, already sensitive, pulled a tissue from the box and wiped it hastily over her eyes.

"I don't mean to be harsh…" Sergeant Wilkens began to backtrack at the sight of her tears. "It's just very frustrating, you understand, to lack these _basic_ answers…"

Emmett had had enough.

"If you don't mean to be harsh," he bit out, "then you'll mind your tongue."

"Excuse me?"

"She's here as a favour," said Emmett. "She was asked here as a _courtesy,_ to make _your_ job easier _._ We could walk out that door right now, and you'd be no better off than you were when we came in."

"It's for _her_ wellbeing that this assignment is even being undertaken…"

"Don't patronize me," warned Emmett. "You might be _his_ boss," he jerked his head at Jasper, whose eyes were fixed resolutely on his computer screen, "but you sure as hell aren't mine."

The man's face reddened.

"Do you want to leave, Bella?" asked Emmett softly. "Say the word and we'll blow this popsicle stand. I don't give a shit what _this_ guy wants." He jerked his head roughly towards the cantankerous man.

Bella's tooth sunk deeper into her lip.

"If she leaves now, we've got nothing…"

"I don't give a damn!" cried Emmett, losing his patience. "At the rate you're going, I'd be _glad_ to give you nothing."

"Emmett…" Bella's soft, shaky voice cut him short. "I'm fine."

"If he makes you cry one more time, I'm taking you out."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Jasper, what else do you want to know?"

"What did the neighbourhood look like, where your truck ended up?"

"It was in a parking lot." Bella shook her head in an effort to clear it. "Behind a tall, grey building."

She refused to look at the fuming Sergeant, though his pen scratched noisily in his notebook.

"Was it an industrial building? Manufacturing center, perhaps?"

"No, it was an apartment," said Bella softly. "I don't think the tenants liked me much."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "The little old lady who lived there is the one who called the cops…"

"We don't have any record of _anyone_ phoning the police," said Jasper gently. "At least not about you or your truck. We looked into that before we dove into the towing records."

Bella froze, a frown marring her face.

"Then how'd they get the truck out?"

"The truck must have been towed by the owner of the building," said Jasper with a shrug. "If it's private property, as we suspect it is, then whoever owns it has every right to tow unauthorized vehicles. The police wouldn't waste resources supervising every tow job on private property…"

"But James said…"

"What did he say, Bella?" Jasper leaned over the computer screen.

"He said that the woman…" Bella shook her head. "He said she had called the police."

"When?"

"When I ran with him," she said softly. "It had just rained, and I had changed my clothes, and he came to my window, banging away and shouting that the little old lady who watched me from the fire escape had called the cops on me."

Jasper pursed his lips.

"That's the whole reason I left the truck behind," said Bella quietly. "He said you guys would mistake me for…"

"For what?"

"For a…" Her neck turned pink. "For a… _prostitute."_

She whispered the word like a curse.

"That's what we call luring," said the Sergeant, opening his mouth for the first time since Emmett had berated him. "When someone is lied to in an effort to get them to follow along."

"He… lied?" The word sounded thick on Bella's tongue. "But what…"

"If he's anything like what we suspect he is, then it doesn't surprise me at all that James tried to lure you," said Jasper gently. "But never mind that just now. What else do you remember about that parking lot?"

"Oh. I…" Emmett knew she was distracted by this sudden revelation. "I don't know. There was a Subway a few blocks away, and there was a diner just up the road."

"Did you eat there? Do you perhaps remember a business name?"

"I didn't buy the food." She ducked her head. "I don't know what it's called."

"Fair enough…" Jasper zoomed in a little further south. "Can you remember how long you drove south before the truck gave out?"

"A few hours," said Bella. "But again, there was traffic, so I don't know _exactly_ how far I got…"

"And how far was the townhouse from this parking lot?"

"Not too far," said Bella gently. "Within walking distance, albeit a rather _long_ walk."

"How long?"

"An hour and a half?"

Jasper, his fingers flying over the keyboard, created a transparent green circle to overlay a portion of the map.

"This is how far you could walk in an hour and a half if you went in a completely straight line."

He set it down near the downtown core.

"And these," he pointed to a collection of blue shapes, all amorphous and sprawling, "is a record of all townhouse complexes like the one you described."

Bella, frowning, stared.

"And _these…_ " similar shapes, but this time in red, "show us any collection of apartment complexes that are grey in colour and at least five stories high."

Bella and Emmett both stared at the screen, their eyes roving over it.

"I _think,"_ said Jasper, and not even dejected, exhausted Bella could miss the sudden excitement in his voice, "that we might have something. Do you see it?"

"No…" Bella spoke the truth. Emmett, eyes creeping ravenously over the screen, hunted for any hint of a pattern.

"Me neither," he said, glancing only momentarily at the Sergeant. The older man shook his head.

"Remember where you told me James was headed? That night you took off?"

"Chinatown?" asked Bella. "So what?"

"So," Jasper dragged the map over. "If he was going out to Chinatown, that means he wasn't already _in_ Chinatown."

"Right…"

"And if he's a pimp, like we think he is," Bella cringed at the word, "then it makes sense that he would stay in relatively close proximity to his working girls."

"Okay..."

"And _here,"_ Jasper dropped a pin to the east of the Chinatown community, "is the only place I can see where there are grey apartments with townhouses within a 1.5 hour walking distance, a Subway right along the main drag, and within reasonable driving distance to Chinatown."

"That's Koreatown," said the Sergeant at once. "Did you see any indicators of that on your travels?"

"I… didn't notice," said Bella honestly.

"It's worth a shot," said Jasper, glancing hopefully at his supervisor. "It can't do any harm to check it out…"

"Of course, of course…" The man heaved a sigh. "But how does that explain her ending up at your wife's coffee shop? West Hollywood is quite a ways from Koreatown."

"During her first interview with me Bella said that she had been running for days," said Jasper. "It makes sense that over that length of time, she would end up far away from where she started."

The words made Emmett's heart hurt. He did not like to think of her running _anywhere,_ much less in the dark, fearing for her life…

"Is any of this making sense, Bella?" asked Jasper desperately. "I know it's a lot to take in and you're tired, but…"

"I guess so," said Bella. "But I don't know for sure."

"All we need is a maybe. If you _know_ we're wrong, then say so, but if you think there's a chance we're right, then we have to pursue it."

"I… don't know. You could be," she admitted. "I have no idea where I ended up, or how in the hell I got out of there…"

"That's good enough for me," said Jasper, staring up at his supervisor. "We should circulate the drawing—we can have copies ready for tomorrow morning's patrol—and we could send a few extra cars out to Koreatown to browse around."

Sergeant Wilkens, whose hard, bearded mouth was set in a firm line, gave a curt nod.

"We'll see what we dig up," he said. "Until we get more details, we have to go with what we've got."

Beside him, Emmett felt his sister tremble.

"…are we finished now?"

Jasper glanced at his supervisor.

"We're as done as we can be," he said, altogether too mysterious for Emmett's liking. Emmett reached down to take Bella's hand again. "Thank you for your assistance, Miss Swan. Your efforts will not be wasted."

Bella stood on shaky, stiff legs and leaned, heavy and tired, on Emmett.

"Come on," he said. They shuffled awkwardly to the door. "You did good, Bell. Now we can just go home. You can relax now. We can take it easy. I promise."

But even as he watched her, though she was silent and still in the passenger seat of his car, he could not help but wonder if that promise was a lie.

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed it!**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Please see my note at the end.**

Chapter 29

Bella could feel the budding migraine throbbing deep in the back of her skull. Her forehead was resting on the warm, sticky glass as the sun, hot and bright, beat down on her cheek through the window. Each pothole and corner sent angry twinges up through her temples, and even though her brother was speaking, she was having a hard time focusing on his words.

"…about this one?"

"Huh?"

"I said," Emmett turned in his seat to eye her, "what about this one?"

Bella, weary and discouraged, glanced passively through the windshield. She craned her neck to peer around Marcus' tall, dark head in the driver's seat and laid eyes on the concrete monstrosity on the corner of 7th and Ardmore. Though the sides were tall and made of grey brick, and there was a long, rickety fire escape screwed to the side, that was where the similarities ended. This building was too tall, she thought, and its brick too dark. The windows were laid too far back in the wall, and when she squinted her eyes through the blazing sunlight, she thought she could make out the thin, white bars of cozy, Georgian windows.

"No," she sighed, shaking her head as she rested her chin on her folded knees. "Not quite."

Emmett, sighing, waved his hand dismissively at Marcus, indicating that they should move on. This had been the way of things all morning—as soon as the sun had risen high enough to wake her, Bella had dragged herself out of bed and together, she, Emmett, and Marcus had been prowling uselessly around Koreatown looking for anything that Bella might recognize. Marcus had been kind enough to drive. Bella supposed she should be thankful that she had her brother as a companion in the back seat, but just now, all she wanted to do was quit.

The longer she looked, the more dejected she felt.

"Next block?" asked Marcus, creeping to a halt at a red light. "We've got quite a few streets left…"

"Bella?" Emmett glanced down at her. Bella shrugged.

"I guess."

"We can go home, you know…" Marcus drove on. "This was your idea, after all."

"I know," she sighed, rubbing her eyes with the butt of her hand. "I know, I just…"

Emmett watched her, silent.

"It's just…" He raised an eyebrow. "How big _is_ this place?"

Emmett barked a laugh.

"Los Angeles?" he asked. "Huge."

"Exactly." She could not keep the grumble out of her voice. "I just figured that I'd recognize _something._ Anything, really…"

"When we hit the right spot, you will," assured Emmett. "But if you want to stop, just say the word."

Bella, despite the pounding headache behind her eyes, shook her head.

"Not yet."

She could not give up now, no matter how much she wanted to. No matter how badly she wanted to crawl back into her warm, cozy bed at Emmett's house, to sleep the day away under the thick, heavy blankets, she knew that it would do her no good. She was so tired, so mind-numbingly weary, that it was a wonder she had even managed to drag herself up at all. Emmett was worried about her— she could see it in his eyes whenever he thought she wasn't looking—and while the nasty, cruel voice in her head screamed at her to succumb, she knew she could not.

She recognized the feelings that had crept up on her in the week since her interview at the police station. They had been her constant companion since her father had grown ill… that hideous, clawing exhaustion that was a constant, omnipresent threat. She knew that if she let it, it would consume her. If she bowed to its pressure, gave in to the crushing, dauntless defeat, it would take, and take, and take…

"Alright then." Emmett's voice, sudden and loud, jerked her out of her reverie. When she started, his brows twitched in sympathetic worry, and Bella felt her cheeks heat up.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry." She swallowed thickly, picking her chin up from her denim-clad knees. "Just thinking."

Emmett shook his head.

"About what?"

"I don't know." Bella closed her eyes again. "Everything."

Emmett continued to watch her. Bella bit back her discomfort as he stared, the silence dragging until Marcus, his gaze glued on the rippling heat of the road, pulled to a stop at another red light.

"We're going to figure it out, you know," said Emmett softly, breaking the silence. "What we're looking for is out there somewhere… we've just gotta find it." His words rang through the car.

"Yeah, maybe." Even to her, her voice sounded hollow. "Someday."

"Soon," he promised. "I mean it, Bella. I don't care if takes a day, a month, or a year. We _will_ find what we're looking for."

"Not soon enough," said Bella, her voice soft and dark. "I can't help but think…"

"You think too much, sometimes," he chided, cutting her off. Bella, though the words pricked her conscience, kept her mouth shut.

"You keep that up," chided Emmett softly, "and you'll drive yourself mad."

Bella, despite herself, could not keep the wry, bitter smile off of her face.

 _What if I already am?_

* * *

"Hey."

Her eyes, which she had closed for just a few moments, snapped open at the sudden excitement in Emmett's voice. The headache had subsided only a little. She could still feel the threatening pulses in the back of her head, but when she shifted her eyes carefully through the darkened back seat, the look of curious excitement on her brother's face made Bella pause.

"What?" Her voice was cautious and quiet.

"What about _these?"_ Oblivious, Bella blinked stupidly as Emmett gestured vaguely towards the car window. Bella turned her head.

Her mouth went dry.

"Where are we?" she demanded, sitting up straight. She all but pressed her nose to the glass as she felt a sudden surge of adrenaline that send her pulse racing. Her heart was in her stomach, and her face, which was already sweaty from the heat of the car, went suddenly pallid…

"A few miles out from Chinatown," said Marcus gently. "It's not exactly where the detectives were looking, but…"

"This is it," said Bella, breathless. The acrid, bubbling fear that had climbed its way up her spine was tempered only by the sudden and jolting sense of familiarity. She knew this neighbourhood. She knew these little whitewashed cubes, all so close together that not even the finest needle could slide between them. She recognized these yards, all squares of browning, brittle grass and overgrown, gaudy flowerboxes…

In both directions, no matter how hard Bella squinted, she could see nothing but the same… row upon row of cookie-cutter, stuccoed townhouses.

"Are you sure?" Marcus pulled the car to a gentle stop at the side of the road.

"Positive." Bella's breath caught in her throat. She glanced over at the nearest house, taking stock of the short, squat little man working in the garden. She did not recognize him, even when he turned his red, sweaty face towards the car, and at once, almost instinctively, Bella's eyes trailed towards the stone walkway that went from the white front door to the blistering sidewalk…

She could almost feel the sand under her feet, just like it had been that night she had tried to run…

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Emmett, all smiling pretense falling from his face. "Do we have this neighbourhood written down, Marcus?"

"Sure do." Bella saw Marcus' fast fingers flying over the letters on his cell phone.

"Let's go home, then," said Emmett. "We've done enough for today. It'll be dinnertime soon, and…"

Bella shook her head.

"Yes, Bella," protested Emmett. "You've gone white as a sheet, and I know you must be hungry. You barely ate anything at all this morning."

"I'm fine," she said at once. _Get a hold of yourself, Bella…_

"No, you're not," sighed Emmett, though there was no hint of a fight in his voice. "Anyone with eyes can see that."

Bella let out a shaky laugh.

"I'm just surprised."

"I'm not," returned Emmett. "I knew we'd find it, if we looked long enough. Though how you walked from all the way out here to Alice's café…"

The sudden memory—the smell of a dumpster in the blazing, California heat—made her stomach roil.

"Hey, man, let's go." Emmett spoke to Marcus before unbuckled his belt and slid over to her. "You look like you're going to be sick…"

"Do I need to pull over?" asked Marcus at once, eying her with pitying suspicion from the front seat. "If you're going to…"

Bella shook her head.

"I'm _fine_ ," she insisted. "Just… shocked, that's all."

"Let's go home, Marcus," said Emmett again. "We can come back another day. Or better yet, send Jasper."

Bella shivered, though no part of her was cold.

"Right-o." Marcus put the car in gear, and Bella, jolted by his sudden speed, fell back against the headrest. Emmett did not move—he kept his hand firmly and soothingly on her bended knee, his eyes flickering seriously between the road ahead and Bella's face.

All she could smell was that dumpster, and all she could feel was the thick, bubbling anxiety creeping ever closer…

The third time his eyes shifted over to her, Bella turned away.

"I'm _fine,"_ she insisted again, though she was sure he sensed the lie. She could not look at him—not when he was staring so intently at her—and when she closed her eyes, her hands rubbing furious circles against her closed eyelids, she found herself sinking deeper back into that night so long ago… the adrenaline that had fuelled her, the fear that had motivated her, and the searing, scalding desperation that had driven her to bolt from that nondescript house into the belly of the sprawling, hostile city…

Unbidden tears came rushing to the forefront, and though she was quick to staunch them on her sleeve, she knew her brother was not fooled. She heard his sigh—the sound of defeat and resignation loud over the quiet rumbling of the car—and though she felt his hand slide down to squeeze hers, she did not look up.

"This is a _good_ thing, Bella," he said, just loud enough for her to hear. "We've got a lead now. Once we give Jasper what we've found, he and the other officers can come and look around…"

"I know." Her cracking voice made her angry. She did not want to cry… why could she not control herself? Why now, when she had an audience, were her defenses failing? A hot, salty tear seeped into her jeans, and she rubbed it furiously with the pad of her thumb.

"You're safe, you know that, right?" Emmett spoke again—this time, a whisper in her ear.

"I know," she said again. And she did. Another drop fell.

"He can't hurt you anymore."

"I _know."_ Another tear. And another. And another…

He sighed again, his worried face swimming behind the sea of sudden emotion. She could not look at him for long—her shame at being laid bare made her want to hide—but Emmett did not seem to notice. He did not care that she was embarrassed, or that her face was growing red and blotchy, or even that everything from the set of her spine to the white-knuckled grip her hands held on door begged to be left alone. Like he always did, even though it was not always appreciated, she felt his heavy arm sneak around her shoulders as his hardened, gentle hands urged her near.

"I'm sorry you're sad," he said gently, once he had ensconced her safely in the crook of his arm. Her head rested just above his heart, and if she stopped her blubbing long enough to listen, she could hear the slow, rhythmic thumping beneath the skin and bones of his chest.

"I'm not sad," she said, a hiccup interrupting the words. This, at least, was true—at that moment, Bella was _not_ sad. At that moment, Bella was angry. Just then, she was frightened. Knowing that her old hell was so near, Bella was anxious, and jumpy, and completely and utterly drained…

Emmett said nothing.

"We'll go home," he repeated slowly, speaking through the fog clouding her brain. "We'll go home, and relax, and find something to eat, and…"

Bella, eyes shut tight, could not listen any further.

"I'm sorry," she said, cutting him off. "I just…"

"I know." He patted her gently on the back. "Never mind. I know."

But as the words left his lips, Bella knew them for what they were—lies. Emmett did not know. Emmett could _never_ know just how her memories tormented her. Some part of her—some deep, desperate, and primal part of her—wished he _did_ know, though she would never wish her memories onto anyone else, much less her own flesh and blood…

"Shit!"

And all at once, their bubble was popped.

"What the fuck, man?" Emmett cursed noisily as the pair of them were flung forward in their seats, unbuckled Emmett hurled onto his knees in the tiny space between the driver's seat and his own. Marcus, speeding down the side streets as fast as he dared, had slammed on the breaks so suddenly that Bella, with no time to react, felt the seatbelt cut into her shoulder. She grimaced when her already sore head connected with the leather headrest, her eyes flying open in that brief, terrifying moment of panic before she could really process what had happened…

"Sorry," Marcus grunted, glancing carefully into the mirrors. "You guys alright? Some kind of animal… a cat, maybe… just _bolted_ out in front of the car."

"Shit," said Emmett, his anger fizzing almost at once. "Did you hit it?"

"Dunno," said Marcus gruffly. He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door. "Hang tight."

Bella, still stunned, watched with glassy eyes as Marcus stalked around the perimeter of the vehicle, scanning for signs of damage. She saw his eyes narrow near the front driver's side tire, and though he bent down to inspect it, he drew back up without even a hint of upset.

"Looks fine," he said, speaking through the window. "Though I don't know where the cat went."

"Well, if it's taken off, it's fine," said Emmett. "I didn't feel anything, and if the car's fine…"

"It is," said Marcus. He slipped back into the vehicle. "But I could have sworn…"

"It probably got spooked and took off," said Emmett reasonably. "Let's just go home, man."

"Yeah." Marcus restarted the car. "Sorry about that, Bella. You alright?"

"Yeah," she squeaked, though the raging headache that had returned with a vengeance suggested otherwise. The sudden burst of adrenaline had snapped her out of her funk—the tears had dried as quickly as they had come—but now, with her sore shoulder and renewed headache, it was all she could do to clear the cobwebs from her mind.

"Did we hurt something?" she asked softly, speaking only once Marcus had started to drive again. This time, Bella noticed, he drove much more slowly through the sprawling neighbourhood.

"Nah," Emmett buckled himself back into his seat. "Don't think so."

"It ran out in front of me, but I don't think I clipped it," said Marcus. "If I did, it took off pretty damn fast…"

Bella, sitting up straight, looked cautiously through the passenger's side window. She glanced carefully backwards, her eyes roving quickly over the black, glittering asphalt, but she saw no sign of the wayward creature.

"I hope it's okay," she lamented. Bella liked animals… she did not want the creature, even if it was nothing more than a feral cat, to be hurt.

"I'm sure it's fine," said Emmett, letting out a shaky sigh. "I think he scared us just as badly as we scared him." Only his quick laugh—thinner and reedier than usual—gave away any sign of fear.

Bella supposed it had startled all three of them.

"Let's try to get home in one piece, shall we?" Marcus glanced warily around the corner of a quiet intersection before turning. "Sorry to have scared you two…"

Out of the corner of her eye, Bella saw a small, dark blur against the white, concrete sidewalk.

"Nah, don't worry, man. It's not your fault…" Bella, curious and frowning, glanced back once more as her brother spoke. The thing that had come close enough to the car to gain her attention was distant now, but Bella watched as it disappeared behind them. As they sped towards the next stop sign, the mass grew smaller and smaller until they crept to a stop, and it was then that Bella noticed that the thing was moving.

No. The thing was _bouncing._

"What the…" Curious and only a little wary, Bella turned herself completely around in her seat to stare through the back window. The creature, whatever it was, ran out into the street, darting at full speed towards the back of Emmett's car…

The glint of pink around the animal's neck made Bella gasp.

"Stop the car."

Marcus pulled carefully through the four-way stop, looking curiously in his rearview mirror as the speedy little creature lost ground.

"What's that, Bell?"

"Stop the car."

Marcus glanced back, confused.

"Bella, what's—"

"Stop the car!" She rammed her finger on the seatbelt button. She felt it come undone with a satisfying _click_ , and though the metal latch hit her cheek on its way back up, she did not stop.

"What the hell…" Bella, ignoring her brother's confusion, jumped from the car before Marcus had a chance to come to a complete stop.

"Bella!" She heard her brother calling after her as she ran down to the intersection, her pulse pounding in her ears.

 _She knew that collar._

"Bella, come back!" Emmett chased after her. "Where are you going?"

 _She knew that dog…_

"Come back!" shouted Emmett again, and though she felt his fingers scrabbling at her hand, she tugged it away impatiently.

"Trixie!"

When the little, furry head popped up on the other side of the four-way stop, Bella felt her heart in her throat.

"Trixie, no!"

The little dog, fairly bouncing with glee, darted dangerously into traffic as Bella, desperate to pull her to safety, lunged forward…

"Are you insane!?" Emmett's strong, firm grip held fast to her wrist as she leaned towards the honking cars. One of them jerked to the side just in time to avoid hitting the dog's back legs as she scampered towards them, her little tail held high in the air…

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Emmett sounded angry now. "You can't just run into oncoming traffic…"

Bella heard none of it as the little dog, panting and out of breath, came skittering up to her feet, her dirty, sharp little claws digging into the skin of Bella's thighs. Emmett held fast to her hand, his glittering, furious eyes glued accusingly on the ragged little dog who was licking Bella's fingers.

"Hello baby…" she cooed. At once, she felt the salty, stinging waterworks start up again…

"Whose dog is that?" asked Emmett at once, letting Bella go when she leaned down towards the animal. To his great surprise, she knelt down on the hot concrete and the dog, familiar and excited, jumped up to lick her face.

"You're not a cat, are you, puppy?" said Bella, sniffling noisily. "Oh, baby, did we almost hit you?"

The dog, wiggly and pleased, licked steadily at the salty tears on Bella's cheeks.

When Bella crossed her legs, the filthy, smelly little thing leapt right into the hollow between her legs, its little nose sniffing frantically around her neck.

"Bella, whose dog is that?" asked Emmett again, this time with an edge of pity. "How do you know its name?"

"Her name," said Bella quietly, "is Trixie. And she belongs to Laurent."

"Laurent?" The name made the dog's ears twitch. "You mean…"

"The guy who owns the house, yeah." Bella sniffled, scratching the dirty dog behind her ears. From the look of her, she must have been roaming the streets for some time. Her fur, usually brown and sleek, was dark and matted, and Bella thought she could see wiggling fleas through the mud. She was skinny—Bella could feel her ribs like rails through the skin on her chest—and though she looked happy, her little nose and tongue were bone dry.

"And how the hell did his dog get loose?" demanded Emmett, almost as if he expected Bella to answer.

"I don't know," she said, cuddling the little dog to her chest. Trixie had been her one regret when leaving that house… she did not want to leave her behind, though she had felt sure that Laurent would at least keep her fed and safe…

Apparently, she had been wrong.

"They must have thrown her out," said Bella, and a sudden surge of guilt hit her hard as the little dog licked her chin. "I thought Laurent would take care of her, but…"

Emmett sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get back in the car, Bella."

Her eyes, fearful and accusing, shot up to him.

"I'm not going to leave her here."

"We need to go home," said Emmett again. "We can call Animal Control from the car, and someone will come and pick her up."

"Animal Control," repeated Bella dryly. "How long will that take?"

"I don't know," said Emmett, taken aback. "Twenty minutes? Half an hour?"

"And what happens if she runs away?"

"They'll get her."

"And where will they take her?"

The thought made her heart hurt.

"I don't know, Bella," Emmett groaned. "Just please, get back in the car."

She shook her head.

"No?"

"No," she said. "I can't leave her here."

"Then we'll wait until Animal Control shows up," bargained Emmett.

"Mm mm." Bella shook her head again, pressing a kiss to the dog's dry nose. "She needs water."

"We don't _have_ water," said Emmett, exasperated. "Come on, Bella. Let's go."

"I'm _not_ leaving her here," she said again. "You go, if you're in a rush."

"And what?" he demanded, losing his patience. "You're going to stay here? Right here on this corner, where that asshole could drive by at any minute?"

"I'm _not_ leaving her here!" said Bella again, but this time, not even Emmett could mistake the anger in her voice. "You go, if you want to. I'm not going to leave her here."

"Oh, for crying out loud…" Emmett ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Get in the car, Bella."

"No."

"Yes."

" _No."_

"Yes! Jesus Christ, Bella, it's enough of a risk for us to be out of the car at all! What do you think would happen if someone drove by us right now and saw you?"

His words sent icy fear through her, but still, she did not relent.

"I'm _not_ leaving her here," she said again. "I don't care how many times I have to say it. I left her behind once before. I won't do it again."

"Oh, for God's sake." Before she could react, Emmett, quick as a whip, reached down and snatched the pathetic creature from her lap. For one, horrendous moment, Bella wondered just what her brother would do to the dog… he had never been a fan of animals, especially ones that smelled, and she had one, terrible vision of him tossing her out onto the busy road before he turned face and stalked back towards the vehicle.

The dog yipped, and Bella scampered after them.

"Get in the car," said Emmett slowly, opening the back door and plunking the dirty animal in his abandoned seat. Emmett himself slunk into the front—Bella supposed he was angry with her now—and though he stared pointedly at her through the front window, it was the sight of the shivering, frightened dog that finally made her relent.

She didn't even have time to buckle her seatbelt before Marcus began to drive again, and the muddy, smelly, frightened dog wormed her way back onto Bella's lap.

"She needs water," said Bella again, letting the dog climb up near her face to lick her chin.

"Pull in," said Emmett gruffly, pointing Marcus towards a McDonalds drive-thru at the next intersection.

"The poor thing is sweltering," said Bella sadly, running her hands through the dirty fur around the dog's mouth. "How long has it been, eh?"

The dog licked her cheeks.

"Get us a cup of ice, a water bottle, and a cheeseburger," said Emmett, still surly.

By the time they pulled out of the parking lot, poor Trixie had lapped up almost half of the ice water from the paper cup in Bella's hands. Another ten minutes in the car and she had scarfed down half of the burger as well.

"Pull in up here," said Emmett quietly. "Bella, give her here."

"What?" The dog, sated for the time being, slept peacefully in Bella's lap.

"I said," repeated Emmett, "give here here."

"I'm sorry," said Bella at once, holding the little dog close. "I didn't mean to upset you…"

Emmett scowled at her, turning around in his seat.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" he demanded.

Bella balked.

"Give me the dog."

Bella felt her lip tremble.

"Oh, for fuck's sake…"

Before she could react, her brother had slammed his own door and made it to hers, tearing it open with such force that both Bella and Trixie both jumped.

"Have you _ever_ known me to hurt an animal?"

Bella shook her head.

"Do you think I'd even _try_ to hurt it?"

Bella shivered. Trixie licked her fingers.

"If you'd take half a second to see where we actually are, then maybe you wouldn't be so quick to judge," said Emmett, shaking his head. "Give me the dog and get out of the car."

Bella, still holding tight to the wiggling bundle of fur, wiped away her tears as she took in the big, blue sign hanging over the door.

 _City Animal Hospital_

 _Dr. Grace Hart_

Bella blinked.

"What…?"

"She's dehydrated, starving, skinny, and covered in fleas." Emmett ticked off the list on his fingers. "She needs a checkup, a bath, and a good haircut."

"I…"

"Come on," said Emmett again. "Get her inside so we can at least see if she's healthy. We can't take her home with us until we know she's okay to go."

Bella's breath caught in her throat.

"Home?" she asked, squeezing the dog to her chest. "Do you mean it?"

"I guess I'll have to," said Emmett wryly. "You looked ready to throw yourself on the fire for that thing, so it would do me no good to turn her out now."

"She's a good girl," said Bella at once. "A really good dog, once you get to know her…"

"I'm sure."

"I mean it…" Bella, followed closely by Marcus, trailed Emmett into the veterinarian's office. "And she's so smart. She knows all kinds of tricks."

"We'll see about that."

"It's true…" Bella felt a sudden lightness in her heart that she hadn't felt for a long time. Trixie, her tail wagging furiously, rested her head on Bella's bony shoulder as she carried her into the office.

"My, my…" The lady at the desk looked rather startled. "What do we have here?"

"We've found a stray," said Emmett wryly, "and we were wondering if the doctor was in?"

"She's just in her office…" The lady ran a hand down Trixie's back. "Let me see if she's free."

And though Bella knew her brother was angry—the tense set of his spine and the brooding scowl plastered on his face made it obvious—he did not turn her away when she hugged him, her arms finally free of the dog.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing him tightly. His arms rested loosely around her shoulders.

"Yeah."

"She'll be good, I promise."

"I hope so."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, finally returning her embrace. She felt him sigh as he patted her gently on the back, and though she caught Marcus' smirk when she pulled away, she paid him no mind.

"Who's gonna pick up the dog shit?" he chortled, earning him an eye roll from Emmett.

"Sure as hell won't be me," said Emmett quickly, and Bella laughed. "And as for you…"

Bella's smile froze as Emmett turned his narrowed eyes on her.

"I expect bacon and eggs every day for a week," he said. Bella's muscles relaxed.

"Done," she agreed easily, squeezing him tightly once again. "Thank you, Emmett. I couldn't let her go again…"

"You're lucky I like you," said Emmett gruffly, "because I sure as hell do _not_ like yappy little dogs."

"She's a good girl," Bella insisted. "A really, really good dog…"

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

But when Emmett plucked a purple collar from a display against the far wall, turning it over in his hands to check it for defects, Bella knew that with time, the dog would win him over, too.

 **A/N: My sincerest apologies for the massive delay in submitting this chapter. I didn't anticipate being as busy as I was, as I was finishing up my second semester of teacher's college. I had another out-of-town placement that snuck up on me (5 practice teaching), and as has become my habit, I am now in the process of moving houses again. Now that my assignments, placements, and packing is almost finished, I have a bit more time to get some writing done.**

 **As always, please let me know what you think. I always appreciate your feedback!**


	30. Chapter 30

**WARNING: This chapter contains topics that might be sensitive to some readers (sexual assault, foul language). Please read at your own discretion.**

Chapter 30

 _The house was dark._

 _Standing at the top of the rickety, creaking staircase, Bella waited, poised, and primed to jump. The hard, unforgiving wood under her feet was icy, and her toes, braced against the step, were clenched so hard that her feet began to cramp. She could see the flickering glow of the television flashing up through the slatted bars of the banister, though there was no music or voices—only the sound of white noise and static. She listened for the soft breathing that indicated sleep, though no matter how she turned her head or craned her neck, she could not make it out. She could not penetrate the darkness down the hallway, jutting from the landing, and though the light downstairs was dim, it made her eyes water._

 _Was he asleep?_

 _Her heart in her throat, Bella took a careful, pointed step onto the second stair. She peeled her foot away from the wood—the old wax made it stick despite the cool, night air—and for one, horrible moment, she wondered if he would hear it._

 _She prayed that he would not._

 _She did not know how long she had been waiting. She had no idea how long she had been standing, ready to bolt from the house at the first sign of trouble. She didn't know how she had come to be here, or why she had returned to this dreaded, hateful place, or why she was still standing there, like a duck on a hunter's open pond…_

 _The light from the television went out._

 _She bit her lip to keep quiet._

" _I have to get out." The words escaped her in a harsh, grating whisper. "I have to get out…"_

 _Shut up._

" _I have to get out…"_

 _The sound of the sofa, of creaking, grinding springs deep in the metal casing, made her freeze. She knew her voice had been too loud—why was she always so loud?—and when she heard his grunting and grumbling, and the thick,_ thump _of his feet on the floor, she knew she had to move._

 _If he had been asleep, he certainly wasn't anymore._

 _Thump._

 _Move._

 _Thump._

 _Go…_

 _Thump._

 _Freeze._

 _She saw him before he saw her, white and frightened with her hands clenched desperately to the wooden banister. She saw his hair, yellow and vibrant, glinting in the orange light from the streetlamp on the edge of the yard. She saw his tattoo—the ornate, runic symbol drawn in black ink on his forearm, and his muscles… his rippling, threatening muscles as he ran a hand over his face._

 _The shuddering gasp that escaped her throat made him halt in place. Bella knew then that she had done it... as his head turned slowly around to face her, his steely, ice-blue eyes fixed coldly on the place where she stood, the piercing hatred she saw in them made her blood run cold._

 _She had to move._

" _Found you, Kitten…" The threatening, angry purr made her stumble back, and all at once, over the rushing of blood in her own ears, she heard a voice in her head shouting through the din._

GO.

 _Bella ran. Turning heel at the top of the stairs, she ran down the hallway towards the back bedroom, desperate to find someplace,_ anyplace, _to go. She could not stay here, where this dangerous, hateful man could see her. She could not let him get her. She could not stay here…_

 _The bedroom door was locked. The bathroom door disappeared. The hall window, which she could have sworn was low enough for her to reach, was suddenly ten feet high and tiny, and no matter how she stretched her arms, her fingertips could not even graze the sill._

 _She could hear his thundering footsteps on the stairs. She could hear him panting, seething gasps of breath hissing through his teeth as he pursued her, chasing and reaching… And when she turned around for one, horrific moment, she saw the danger rushing up behind her. The man, the one who haunted her every step, careening down the hallway after her, towering over her, as spittle flew from the corners of his mouth and fisted hands reached out to grab her…_

" _No…" She felt hot, briny tears on her cheeks. "Please, no…"_

" _You little bitch." His burning, rough fingers dug into her shoulders. "I'll show you what happens when you disobey me, you little slut…"_

" _Get off of me!" The shriek was loud and piercing. She wiggled furiously, desperate to escape his groping, digging hands…_

 _But her pleas were useless. He would not listen. She squirmed and struck, bit and kicked, but none of it did her any good… he would not be deterred. She would not submit to him, not even when he knocked her to the ground and pressed his face to hers, his hot breath like sour milk. Not even when she felt his hand pawing roughly down the front of her shirt to reach her chest while the the other scratched down her stomach, reaching down to unbutton her jeans…_

Bella woke with a strangled gasp.

The room was pitch black.

Laying in the vast, cushioned bed, Bella blinked furiously against the wetness seeping through her lashes. Her heart was hammering, its beat like the wings of a furious little bird trapped between her ribs, and try as she might, she could not catch her breath. It rushed into her lungs in sharp, quick pants, and though she sat up, hunching over her knees, the bands around her chest would not ease.

 _Only a dream,_ she thought.

Taking one, quick glance around the room, Bella took stock of what she saw. She knew where she was, though it took her a moment to orient herself, and try though she might, she saw nothing of consequence. The window, which she could have left open, was latched shut, and the curtains, thick and heavy, were drawn closed. The white, fluffy duvet lay abandoned on the floor at the foot of the bed, and though the glass from the fireplace glinted in the low light, no orange flames danced behind it. She could make out the shadows of the desk and dresser, both poised unassumingly against the side wall, and though her bedroom door was closed, she could see the chink of light streaming in the gap above the floor. She had left the hall light on, she remembered, as when the house got dark and silent, Bella grew fearful.

The feel of a small, hot tongue on her toes made her yelp, and she clapped a hand over her mouth before she quickly drew her foot under the covers.

The little dog started under the sheets, the bulge of her body squirming as she sniffed for the exit. Bella, releasing a shaky laugh, lifted the sheet to let her out.

"Don't lick," she murmured, flopping back down on her pillows as Trixie, no doubt woken by Bella's disruption, trotted her way to the head of the bed, her new, purple collar jingling in the silence. The dog's warmth made Bella feel safe, and when the wet little nose began tickling her neck, she pulled her carefully away. Trixie rested comfortably on her chest, her little head flush with Bella's chin, and the little creature gently closed her eyes, content to sleep just as she was.

Bella, still shaky and unnerved, stroked the soft fur on the dog's head.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she whispered softly. The dog's ears twitched. "I didn't mean to."

Trixie huffed.

Bella remained still, and silence fell upon her like a thick, heavy blanket.

The clock ticked on as Bella waited, her eyes wide open in the blackness, for sleep to return. She was tired—she could feel the heaviness deep in her bones as she lay, still and silent, listening to the quiet, eerie noises emanating from the belly of the house. No one else was awake—Emmett, she knew, would be sound asleep in his bedroom at the other end of the hall, and the dog, her weight so slight that Bella barely noticed her, was snoring softly in Bella's ear. She wished she could sleep, that she could close her eyes and fall into that satisfying oblivion she craved so deeply. She _wanted_ to sleep. She hated the agitation, this anxious, vibrating energy she could feel crawling on her skin and down her spine. Each crack of the house made her heart throb with worry in her chest. When the air conditioning kicked in—a gentle hiss coming from the far wall—Bella thought her breath would stop altogether. A car's headlights in the window sent pangs of fear right through her, and when she heard the rumble of a truck on Emmett's sleepy road, she pulled her feet away from the darkness at the end of the mattress.

The clock struck three, and Bella could bear it no longer.

Carefully, with the utmost attention, Bella shifted the sleepy little dog onto the pillow beside her. Trixie, her sleep deep and comfortable, did not wake, and Bella almost smiled when she nestled her little head deeper into the downy cushion. She was glad, at least, that the dog was content. If nothing else, Bella could assure herself that this little creature for whom she had taken so much responsibility was happy, that she had a warm, dry place to lay her head, and all the love and attention she could want…

When Bella crept out into the hallway, mindful to keep her steps light and quiet, the dog did not follow.

Emmett's house, sprawling and monstrous though it was, was immaculate. There was not one spot of dirt, not one speck of dust to be found on the delicate shelves along the hallway or the ornate mantelpiece above the living room fireplace. The floors gleamed, though the only light came from a harsh, white light from a light in the kitchen, forgotten at the end of a busy day. Bella felt herself drawn to it, its effervescent brightness streaming through the blackness of a house unused. It hurt her eyes—when she looked at it, she could feel the sting of protesting tears—but when she found herself standing in the middle of the cold, tiled floor, surrounded by glaring whiteness, she could not look away.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was impeccable. Leah had done an excellent job, as she always did, and though Bella could still smell the special disinfectant the housecleaner used on the porous counters, she moved towards the sink. Pulling out an old scrub brush and a red plastic pail, Bella began to fill it with water.

Leah was too old, her knees too feeble, to scrub the floors.

* * *

"It's _so_ good to have you back, Bella…"

It took all her energy to keep her eyes open.

"Thanks, Alice."

"You can take it easy today…" Alice chattered on as Bella, cloth in hand, wiped absently at the table. The sun had not yet risen, the darkness mitigated by the soft glow of lamps in the corners of the dining room. Bella was sure the booths had already been cleaned—it was not like Alice to close up without finishing all of her chores—but Bella could not bear to stand still.

She had been idle most of the night. Emmett's kitchen had been clean before she'd started, and it hadn't taken her long to finish the floors, and the counters, and the table…

"Thanks," said Bella again.

"It's important to get reacquainted," said Alice, patting Bella on the back on her way by. "I know you know what you're doing, but I'm sure it'll take some getting used to. We've missed you around here."

Bella gave a weak smile but Alice, busy with the baked goods in the oven, was already gone.

The morning was long. Bella stood at the counter, white-faced and exhausted, listening to the mundane babble of coffee-seeking patrons as her fingers, slow and stupid, clunked over the keys of the register. She was sure Tyler was worried for her—he had taken to sneaking up behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder whenever someone particularly difficult came by—and while Bella appreciated the silent solidarity, she could not help but feel diminished.

Tonight, she thought, she would have to sleep.

Tyler had just gone on break when Bella's meandering thoughts were broken by a curt, impatient voice.

"Excuse me?" Bella started, glancing across the counter as a woman, tall and slender, snapped her fingers under Bella's nose. Bella blinked stupidly at her, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs.

"I'm sorry?"

The woman, narrowing her eyes, stared Bella down with a glare so venomous that Bella was surprised that she didn't drop dead right then and there. The lady was pretty—tall and slender in all the right places, with long, auburn hair that reached her waist and a long, pale neck. Bella took her for a businesswoman—she was wearing a fitted, high-waisted skirt and a collared blouse that showed just a hint of her ample cleavage. When the woman leaned over, her red nails braced on the countertop, Bella had to lean away from the musky scent of her perfume.

 _Too close…_

The woman was speaking again, and Bella, still not focused, felt her cheeks heat up. She had not heard a word.

"I'm sorry," said Bella again, forcing herself to listen to the woman's rising voice. "What did you say?"

"Are you deaf or something?" the woman sneered, and Bella, shocked, blinked again.

"…no."

The woman barked a laugh.

"I _said,_ " Bella could smell minty bubblegum on her breath, "I want a large macchiato, two pumps of vanilla, and extra foam, with a breakfast sandwich on whole wheat. Tomato on the _side._ And absolutely _no_ condiments."

Bella said nothing, her fingers punching awkwardly at the buttons. The woman leaned over, reading the screen, and when Bella accidentally hit the vanilla button three times instead of two, the woman's eyes bulged.

"Did you hear me, or are you just stupid?" The woman grew shrill. "I swear to God, you people…"

"I heard you," said Bella, clearing her throat. Her voice was croaky as she fixed her error. "Anything else?"

"No?" The woman spoke the word like a question, but the challenge in her eyes was evident.

"So one macchiato…"

"You people are so fucking ignorant!" The woman's voice had risen to a screech, and all at once, Bella was forced back to attention. For the moment, her fatigue was all but forgotten as she stared, open-mouthed, at this obnoxious, irate customer. Bella opened her mouth to retort, to say something— _anything—_ intelligent, but the longer she stared, the redder the woman's face became. Even her neck turned red…

"Forget it!" she spat. "I'll go to Starbucks. At least they employ actual _humans,_ not useless _apes!"_

Bella stared, dumfounded, as the woman walked away. The lineup of customers, long and winding, turned their heads to stare after her, each face a mask of surprise and incredulity. A lump grew in Bella's throat as shame, hot and sticky, oozed down her spine. As the woman stormed out, no coffee in hand, a group of girls near the back of the line burst into disbelieving giggles, their titters echoing into through the sudden silence left in her wake. Had it not been for them, Bella was sure she could have heard a pin drop. Her breathing was loud in her ears, the rush of air like the shaky rumble of thunder during a sudden and powerful storm. The lump in her throat made it hard to swallow and though she bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay, the painful tingle in her eyes warned of impending defeat.

She was grateful for the tinkling bell over the door when all of the heads turned, their fascination with Bella finally broken. He walked in slowly, his kind, open face morphing into confusion as he took in the silent stillness. Bella watched with hot, blotchy cheeks as his gaze roved slowly over the customers before it finally came to rest on her.

He was beside her in mere seconds.

"Go for break," said Jasper, his voice gentle and quick in her ear. "Alice is just out back…"

"It's not time for break," replied Bella, her voice finally cracking. "It's not even been an hour…"

"Go," repeated Jasper. His guiding hand on the small of her back urged her away. "Take as long as you need."

Bella, numb and discouraged, stumbled awkwardly away before he could tell her a third time. When she made it to the back room, just as she was closing the door, she heard the noise pick up again, the catty giggles from the girls in line carrying through the thick, wooden door. She fell onto Alice's leather sofa—the one she hated so vehemently—and rested her head in her hands, taking deep, pointed breaths. Her nerves were frayed, the edges like a torn bit of string blowing in the wind, and unless she could find a way to stop it, she was sure she would unravel.

She waited for three, long breaths before the door cracked open again, and Alice crept in, her face clouded with concern.

"What happened?" she asked, perching gently on the edge of the armrest. Bella supposed that something about her—perhaps the ruby flush of her cheeks or the glassy sheen that brightened her eyes—belied her forced calm. Bella watched, as if in slow motion, as Alice's chipper countenance fell, plunging her into complete and sudden anxiety. Bella was ashamed of herself—embarrassed to be caught in such a moment of weakness, frustrated at her lack of self-control, and so completely, utterly disappointed in herself for ruining Alice's cheer.

"Hey…" Alice, her frown deepening, reached down to clasp Bella's shoulder. Alice's bright, wide-eyed worry made Bella's eyes sting, an she blinked it angrily away.

"I'm fine," she said gruffly. "Just a shitty customer."

Alice pursed her lips.

"I'll be fine," insisted Bella. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," scolded Alice. "I just want to make sure you're alright. It's your first day back, and I _know_ I shouldn't have asked you to run cash, but…"

"I'm _fine_ , Alice," said Bella again. _Do not cry…_ "It's just been a weird week, that's all."

"I know," sighed Alice. Bella supposed she really would, what with Jasper and Rose both sharing stories…

"I'll be back to normal soon enough." Bella cleared her throat. "Sorry for disrupting things."

Bella's eyes felt suddenly heavy, and she wished, more than anything, that she could sleep.

"Stop it," said Alice again. "I mean it. You haven't done anything wrong. In fact…" Alice reached down beside her, stretching to the floor to pick up a small, white bag Bella hadn't noticed before. It took her a long moment to realize that Alice was holding it out to her, a sheepish half-smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

"What is it?" Bella reached gingerly for the parcel, a mix of curiosity and caution warring in her head. Her instinctive apprehension towards unsolicited gifts and favours made her wary, but the return of Alice's smile forced her to accept it with as much grace as she could muster.

"Open it," said Alice gently, pressing her hands together. "It's nothing too exciting, but…"

Her curiosity, which was rising ever higher, forced Bella to relent and with careful fingers, she gently prized it open. She couldn't keep away that small, almost invisible smile that crossed her lips when she found a light, long rectangle wrapped in bright pink paper. Alice's face all but glowed when Bella slid one, ragged fingernail under the tape and gave a sharp tug. The box beneath was nondescript—brown cardboard bearing a white shipping label and Alice's name and home address. The clear tape seal had been broken already and the corner of one flap was folded at an odd angle, but when she opened it and slid the squeaky Styrofoam from its packaging, she grinned despite herself.

"I said not to," murmured Bella, shaking her head as she peered down at the thing in the box. "Really, Alice, you didn't have to…"

"I know," chirped Alice, "but I _wanted_ to. It came out great, don't you think?"

Bella nodded, pulling the long, metal object from its foam casing.

It was a bronze nameplate, similar to the one bearing Alice's name on the large, wooden desk, but this one bore a different, yet quite familiar, inscription.

 _Bella Swan  
_ _Accounts Manager_

Bella barely had a chance to admire it, to turn it over in her hands and inspect it as she was wont to do, before Alice plucked it from her fingers and set it on the desk. Her own nameplate was swept unceremoniously into a drawer, and before Bella knew it, a silver key on a long, blue lanyard was hung around her neck.

"Alice…"

"You've got 'manager' in your job title now. Jasper and I both agree that it's high time we give you a little more responsibility. That key will let you open the store, if you ever want to, or stay late, should that tickle your fancy."

 _Manager?_

Bella blinked. In her stomach, butterflies that had nothing to do with nerves erupted in a flurry of fluttering wings, and Bella wiped her suddenly clammy hands on her knees.

"Are you serious?" she croaked, trying, and failing, to keep her voice steady. Alice watched her carefully, a hopeful smile on her face, and nodded.

"If you are," she said. "I didn't mean to spring it on you so suddenly, but you looked like you could use a pick-me-up. Jasper and I took time while you were away to get it all set up. We've got a new girl trained to do evenings and weekends on the register, and—if you're agreeable, that is—this means I can spend more time out front. That's what I've always wanted, you know… I hate the back-end stuff, but I've never had the means or the knowledge to train someone else to do it. I don't want to pressure you—we need the new girl even if you _do_ stay on cash. I just figured you seem to enjoy desk work, and this way, you'll never have to work late shifts if you don't want to. And of course, you'll get a pay raise…"

Bella shook her head in disbelief, cutting Alice short.

"Yes," she said, the word squeaking out on the tail of a nervous laugh. "Of course I want to."

Bella had never even dreamed of such a thing. Never, in all her life, had she even been _considered_ for any kind of promotion. Not in Washington, though she had spent six, long years waiting tables at Newton's, and especially not here, in Los Angeles, where everything had gone to shit in such a sudden and spectacular way. The idea made her giddy—for that long moment of shock and gratitude, Bella all but forgot about the things that were troubling her. Her fear of James, of being found out, slipped away along with the bone-deep exhaustion, nagging anxiety, and the omnipresent fear that Emmett, who had seemed so worried about her since that sudden and traumatic police interview, would figure her out.

Alice beamed at her, clapping her hands together.

"Oh, I'm so glad," she trilled, jumping up from her perch. "Nothing much will change for you, of course—you've already been doing the work—but I can make it official now. You can put it on your resume and everything! And just think… no evenings or weekends! You'll have Monday to Friday, nine to five…"

Bella cut her off with an furtive embrace—something that was long-deserved, and well-earned. Who was this woman, this savior to whom Bella seemed to be eternally indebted, yet for whom she was infinitely and unabashedly grateful? Alice, Bella thought, was truly a saving grace. Without her, Bella would have no job. Without her, she would have no home. She would have never found Rose, who would have never reunited her with Emmett, who would have never come to her aid when she was desperate and answered that yearning, wounded desire for family…

"Thank you, Alice," breathed Bella, her arms squeezing the thin, bony shoulders as tightly as she dared. Alice returned the affection readily—she was never one to turn down a hug—and patted Bella enthusiastically on the back.

They only broke apart when the office door cracked open again and Jasper, a wry smile on his face, sauntered in.

"You can't keep a secret for more than five seconds, can you?" he intoned, though there was no hint of animosity. Alice laughed.

"She was sad," said Alice simply. "I couldn't let it go, knowing I might be able to fix it."

"No," he agreed, closing the door behind him. "And neither could I."

Bella swiveled around to face him fully, her eyes closing in on the large white box under his arm.

"Did you buy her _flowers?"_ Alice chortled, craning her neck to eye the parcel. "You _did!_ I can see the shop's logo from here…"

Bella felt her face heat so quickly that she was sure it would catch on fire.

" _I_ didn't," said Jasper quickly, though he laughed at his wife's incredulity. "But _someone_ did."

He held out his hand to Bella, a floral card outstretched towards her. The cover flap fell open as he lifted it closer to her, and before she could reach her hand out to grab it, she saw the telltale handwriting in bright blue ink covering the inside flap.

The fear hit her like a truck, and all at once, she felt her throat close up.

 _She knew that writing._

"Hey…" Jasper, who undoubtedly saw her sudden and abrupt pallor, stepped closer. He glanced at the card in his hand, a frown marring his face as he looked it over, before realization dawned and he began to backtrack.

"Oh, no…" he said quickly, though the damage was done. "No, Bella…"

"What did you do?" barked Alice furiously, glaring at the card in Jasper's hand. Bella barely heard her—her heart was in her throat, hammering away like a drum…

"…James," she heard Jasper say.

How had he found her? Was he still here? Had he seen her? Did he see her now?

"Bella!" Alice's shrill voice broke through the din in her mind.

"Sorry," she gasped quickly, her eyes locked on the plain, white parcel. "I'm sorry…"

She felt sick.

"It's _not_ from _him,_ Bella." Jasper spoke gently. "I mean it. Here…" He held out the card to her again. "Read it."

Bella, almost on instinct, recoiled.

Alice took it for her.

"Oh…" she breathed and Bella, tearing her eyes away from the package, saw realization dawn on Alice's face. A pitying sigh escaped her as she forced the card into Bella's hand, slipping it between her tense fingers.

"Read it," she urged, mimicking Jasper's words. "Seriously. It's not at all what you think."

Bella held her breath as she glanced down at the generic, floral cover of the card. The writing that had frightened her was hidden now, tucked away under the thick, cardboard cover, and with great trepidation, Bella cracked it open.

 _Bella,_

 _I'm glad to hear you're back at work. I hope your feet are feeling better. I saw these in the shop window and thought of you… I couldn't help myself. I thought they were bright and pretty, just like you._

 _You still owe me a lunch date, Coffee Girl._

 _Yours always,_

 _Edward_

 _(P.S. Please don't cringe too hard. I know the cheese factor is strong, but I'm no good at notes.)_

Through the weight of her irrational anxiety, Bella felt an unwholesome, sudden urge to laugh.

"See?" Alice's hands were fluttering nervously, her gaze flicking between Bella and Jasper. She looked ready to snatch the card back at the slightest sign of trouble. "Nothing to worry about, right?"

"Sorry," said Bella, for what felt like the umpteenth time, as a rush of cold air rushed up her back. She had been so hot just a minute ago… had the air conditioner always been blowing on her neck?

She shivered.

"You want to look in the box?" asked Jasper carefully.

"Okay." Bella stood on shaking knees and reached out for it, and Jasper laid it gently in her arms. It was heavier than Bella expected it to be, so she set it carefully on the desk. There was nothing holding it closed—the lid slipped off with ease—and when Bella gazed inside, she felt flattered and ashamed of herself all at once.

Inside, nestled in a bed of white tissue paper, lay a bouquet of pink and purple tulips, their blooms full and robust.

"See?" said Alice again. "Isn't that sweet?"

Bella said nothing, but plucked a lone, fragrant bloom from the bunch and brought it to her nose. It smelled like springtime—like the moist, wet window box that had always hung outside her father's kitchen window. It smelled like youth, of childhood so suddenly wrenched away, and of old, almost forgotten memories that lurked like specters at the very cusp of consciousness.

It smelled like home.

"It is sweet," said Bella earnestly. The smell drove the irrational fear away. "It's nice of him to think of me."

Tentatively hopeful, Alice nodded her agreement.

"Well…" Her voice was shaky, and Bella did not miss the silent, meaningful exchange that passed between her and her husband. "I'll get out and help Tyler, shall I?" She stood. "You enjoy your new digs, Bella. I'd tell you to learn the ropes, but you've already been doing that for months. If you need me, I'll be…" She trailed off as she backed up towards the door.

Slowly—much more slowly than Bella was used to—Alice slipped into the main room, squeezing past a still and somber Jasper. Jasper did not move aside for her, which struck Bella as particularly strange, as Jasper had always presented himself as the perfect southern gentleman. Bella had even found him old-fashioned at times—he was forever pulling out chairs and opening doors not only for Alice, but for any female, old or young, he came across. At first, she had found it a little embarrassing—was Jasper simply trying to show off for Bella, who was the newest addition to their little group? But she had quickly learned that it was simply his way—everyone from his sister to his wife had learned to accept it, as while Jasper was a quiet, good-natured man, he was stubborn to a fault and could hold a door longer than a girl could reasonably hold out.

Bella stood awkwardly in the sudden quiet, pinned by his kind, but unnerving, stare. Bella swallowed and looked away—the longer he gazed, the more uncomfortable she grew, until finally, unable to stand it for another minute, she met his eyes.

Jasper released a sigh, leaning against the wall.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Truly, I am."

Bella blinked, surprised.

"For what?"

"For frightening you," replied Jasper. "It was never my intention, I swear…"

Bella shook her head, curt.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she murmured, clearing her throat. "It was my own fault. I'm tired, and I shouldn't be so quick to overreact…"

"It's only natural," returned Jasper. "You're hypervigilant, as most in situations like yours are. But still… I'm trained to handle it. I know I should be more careful, yet still, I forget."

"I'm fine, Jasper," said Bella quickly. "I'm not going to cry, or freak out…"

Though lately, avoiding either of the two was a struggle.

"That's not the point," sighed Jasper. He shook his head and a piece of hair fell into his eyes. "The point is that I'm sorry you're still struggling. I'll try to be more mindful of that in the future."

Bella did not know what to say.

"Um…" She cleared her throat. "Thanks, Jasper."

"No need to thank me," he chuckled. "I'm only doing what any decent person would do. And Bella?"

"Yeah?" She set the tulip, which hung limply from her hand, back into the box.

"That man will never touch you here." He spoke quietly—Bella had to listen closely to make out his words—but he spoke with such dark intensity, with such grim determination, that she had no choice but to believe him.

She nodded, the motion almost imperceptible as she licked her lips with a dry tongue.

"I mean it," he said. "Everyone's seen the sketch. Everyone knows to call 911 if they see so much as a hair from his head."

Bella stared.

"None of them know why, of course," he continued. "The station isn't releasing the image to the public just yet… they don't know what he'll do and they want to have all of their angles covered. But I made sure that all of our staff know to be on the lookout."

She breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought it was his writing," admitted Bella. "That's what scared me. He's left me things before, and that card…"

Jasper simply listened.

"I know it's not rational." She gave a cynical laugh. "I know he can't hurt me through a card, but…"

"It's not irrational," said Jasper. "Not one bit. It might not be healthy, true enough, but that kind of reaction makes perfect sense. James is a dangerous man—no one knows that better than you—and it's more than understandable that you'd be on constant alert."

Bella sighed, leaning back against the desk.

"I just hope…" Jasper took a step forward as he spoke, "that you aren't bottling everything inside. You've got a network of people willing to help, so please, for your own good, make sure you use them. Let us help you."

He stood right in front of her now, within arm's reach, his height much greater than hers as he gazed down at her with those kindly, concerned grey eyes. His words hit home. She had heard them time and time again—from Alice, from Rose, hell, even from her own brother—but there was something about the way _he_ said them that made her pause.

Her pride, she thought, would be the death of her.

"I will," she said, an unspoken promise slipping past her lips. "Thank you, Jasper."

He reached out, then—something he had never done before—and before Bella could react, he pulled her into a fierce, strong embrace.

* * *

Bella woke again that night, drenched in sweat with the echo of a scream still on her lips. She could feel the rawness in her throat, the aching of her muscles that told of struggle and exertion, even in the depths of sleep. Her breath came in heaving pants, her chest working frantically to suck in the air she so desperately needed as the adrenaline that had flooded her system not five minutes prior leeched away. In its wake, Bella felt the twinges of a burgeoning headache, and when she brought her clammy fingers to her face, she felt the warm wetness of tears. They had been shed not for any waking fear, but for the nighttime terror of a hulking, stalking nightmare.

Her heart pounded a loud, steady rhythm in her chest—so loud, in fact, that she was surprised her brother couldn't hear it across the house.

Biting her lip to ward off the threat of new, frustrated tears, Bella sat up in bed, glancing over at the red, glowing alarm clock on the bedside table. The numbers mocked her—3:33 blinked tauntingly in the darkness—and though she could feel the thick, lingering exhaustion in the very marrow of her bones, she knew that any attempt to return to sleep would be futile.

Trixie's warm weight on her feet made Bella keep still, though it was all she could do not to leap out of bed and rush downstairs to find something, _anything_ , to take her mind off of that horrendous, gripping dream. She felt shaky and cold, though she was tucked in tight under her covers, and it was just as she bit her lip, desperate not to cry, that she heard the gentle tapping on her bedroom door.

"Bella?" Emmett spoke quietly, the sound a mere murmur through the thick door. "Bella, are you awake? Are you alright?"

Trixie's head snapped up at the sound of Emmett's voice, and she hopped quickly off of the bed. Bella sniffled—the sound echoed off of the bare walls—and her brother, no doubt lingering just outside the door, shifted against the wood.

"Yeah." Her voice cracked, and she cursed herself. "Yeah…"

"…Can I come in?" His words were still muffled. "Please?"

"Okay." Bella quickly wiped her face on the covers, erasing any wetness from her cheeks. If he saw, it would only upset him…

"Oh, kiddo…" The dim light from the hallway was bright in Bella's eyes as she watched her brother, towering and strong, silhouetted against it.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she said quickly, schooling herself to keep the quaver away. "I didn't mean to."

"You didn't," said Emmett, stepping into the darkened bedroom. Bella could not see his face—it was cast in murky shadow—but she could tell from the clarity of his voice that he was telling the truth.

The door clicked shut behind him as he leaned, squinting through the darkness, to make her out. Bella's eyes were adjusted to the dark—it was no trouble for her to make out his frowning, squinting face—but he stood motionless, blinking furiously.

Bella, mindful of the dog who had perched herself on the end of the bed, reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. Emmett jumped when the light came on, his gaze immediately falling on her.

He was not angry—of this, Bella was certain—but besides that, she could not discern his mood. To her, he looked almost sad. Or perhaps nervous. Or maybe he was simply tired…

"Are you okay?" he asked again, repeating the query he'd posed from the hallway.

"Yeah." She cleared her throat, determined to get rid of the croak. "Sorry."

He shook his head quickly, taking another step into the belly of the room.

"Don't be sorry," he repeated, moving closer to the bed. "I just thought I heard…"

"I know." Her face flamed. "I'll try to keep it down. I know you've got work in the morning."

Post-production on the film he'd been working on was wrapping up, and Emmett was expected in Marcus' office at nine o'clock the next morning to discuss his upcoming promo events.

"Never mind that," dismissed Emmett. "I'm more concerned about you."

On instinct, Bella felt another _"I'm fine"_ welling up in her throat, but just as soon as the words reached the tip of her tongue, her courage wavered.

"What is it?" asked Emmett at once, no doubt catching her sudden hesitance. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

A beat passed between them as Bella held her breath, her lip between her teeth. Did she seize this sudden and unexpected opportunity for honesty, and tell him the truth? Did she spill her heart out, right here and now, and reveal to him the horrors of her nighttime hours? What would he think of her, if he knew what kinds of filth haunted her sleep, and what kind of specter lurked around every corner in the recesses of her mind?

Emmett seemed to sense her hesitance and didn't push, his hand resting gently on her ankle, which was peeking out from beneath the covers. Bella toyed with her thoughts, struggling to find the right words to say what needed to said, pushing back against the ever-present, insistent pride that demanded she hold her tongue.

But when she looked up at him and saw nothing but love and concern shining back at at her, she boxed that prideful voice up and locked it away, deep in the back of her mind.

"I… I can't sleep," she said finally, the words stunted and graceless.

Emmett frowned.

"…Did you have a bad dream?" he hedged, no doubt trying to discern more meaning. Bella nodded yes, grasping for the words she needed to say to make him understand.

 _Why was it always so hard to ask for help?_

"Yes," admitted Bella, "but it's not just this one."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… ever since we came home from the police station," said Bella in a rush. _Best to get it over with quickly._ "Ever since then, I've been up at all hours."

Her brother stared.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Is it about… _him?"_

Bella, red-cheeked and suddenly anxious, gave a meek nod.

"You know he can't hurt you, right?" He echoed Jasper, similar words having been spoken in almost the same way just hours before.

"I know."

"Especially not here," he continued. "That alarm goes off if anyone without the codes tries to hop the fence or force the gate. And it's wired directly to the police. The only people who know the codes are you, me, Rose, and Marcus."

"I know," she repeated, shaking her head. "I'm not afraid he'll find me _here…"_

"Then what?" Emmett pulled her gently to his side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "What's got you so freaked out?"

"I just…" All at once, Bella felt the telltale lump in her throat and the sting behind her eyes.

"I just can't stand not knowing," she said in a rush. "Not knowing where he is, or what he's doing, or if he's still looking for me, or if he knows where I've gone…"

Emmett could say nothing—he had no more insight on James than she did—but his arm tightened around her and she felt his chin resting on the top of her head.

"Do you want to tell me what the dream was about?" he asked softly. "You don't have to, but it might help to get it out…"

All at once, Bella heard Jasper's voice in her head as her breath caught in her throat.

 _Let us help you._

How had he known?

"It's always the same." Her voice broke as she began the sorry tale. "I know it as soon as it starts…"

"'Always'?" Emmett inquired. "What do you mean?"

"I mean always," she repeated. A shiver coursed down her neck. "Every night, it's the same thing…"

Emmett sighed, but remained silent. Bella went on.

"I'm in that townhouse, at the top of the stairs. I always start there… I can see the TV through the rungs of the banister—or the light from it, at least—and every time, I'm waiting, listening to see if he's down there."

"And then?" Her brother's voice was tight.

"And then," she continued, "I see him. He comes out of the room, the TV turns off, and I always make some kind of sound. Sometimes it's a gasp, sometimes I cry, and sometimes it's just the creaking of the stairs, but I always make noise. And he always turns and sees me. Then he barrels up the stairs so fast and I run, but the doors are locked and the windows are too high…"

She drew a loud, shuddering breath.

"He always catches me." Her voice was small. "Always. He pins me to the floor, but no matter how hard I fight, I can't get away. I never make it to the end, but I know what he's going to do."

She felt Emmett release a sharp, harsh breath against her hair. He said nothing, though Bella was sure he'd interject.

"He…" She struggled to find the words, to make them as unobtrusive and ineffectual as possible. "He…"

Emmett waited.

"He… he's got his hands up my shirt, and he's always reaching for my jeans… I can't fight him off. I can't yell. I can't even tell him to stop, when he's got his face on mine, and…" She swallowed hard, unable to finish. The words stuck in her throat—her lips would not form that dreaded "R" word, though she knew as well as Emmett that the implication was enough. Her tongue felt suddenly thick, and it was only when Emmett cut her off with a gentle shush that she fell silent, stopping her clumsy attempts to explain.

"Shh… it's okay," he said, and Bella pressed her face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's okay…"

The memory of the dream, so vivid and real, made her shake. She felt so weak, so helpless and vulnerable, that the tears that had been threatening to fall ever since that morning finally did, and she stopped trying to keep the fraying pieces of herself together.

It was time, she thought, for someone else to bear this burden, even if it was only for a little while.

"You're alright," soothed Emmett quickly, turning around to hug her properly. "You're alright."

"No, I'm not," she said, the admission freeing itself like a stone from a riverbed. She could feel the hole it left behind almost at once, the admission of weakness leaving her with a deep, penetrating wound. But like that riverbed whose banks were worn down by the rushing current, she knew that she, too, would endure. Her pride had held that stone in place for so long and she knew the wound would smart, but eventually, she knew, it would scar over. The river's void would fill with sand, a seamless patch against nature's hurt, and in that moment, Bella knew that she, too, would find a way to heal.

Emmett's shaky sigh was the final blow as the wall she'd built—the one that stood for his protection as much as hers—came crashing down around them, leaving them both clinging to each other in the dark, dusty rubble. She had hurt him—she felt it as keenly as if she had hurt herself—and though she felt the onslaught of guilt and self-deprecation that always came when she hurt the ones she loved, this time, she did not push back.

"I'm sorry it sucks," said Emmett softly, his voice steady despite his obvious distress. "I'm sorry you're hurting, and I'm sorry—so, so sorry—that there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"Don't be sorry," said Bella feebly, repeating the words she'd heard so many times that day. The disquiet and frustration in her words rang loud and clear.

"I don't know what else to say," he admitted, refusing to pull away even when her hold on him loosened. "I don't know how to fix this."

Bella gulped, washing away the taste of rust and salt. She had bitten her cheek hard enough to draw blood.

"You can't," she whispered softly. "No one can fix this. But thank you for trying."

Emmett's murmured reply made Bella pause.

"What?"

"I said _we_ can," he repeated, his voice only a breath in her ear. "Not _no one,_ Bella. _Us."_

"How?" she asked, the heavy weight of this truth settling down on her. "I can't. I don't know how."

"I don't know," admitted Emmett, "but I swear to you this: we are going to try, even if it's the last thing we ever do. I'll take you to every doctor, every therapist in the world so long as it makes you happy. We'll leave here if we have to… go somewhere far away where not even a whisper of that man will ever reach you. And so long as you're still willing to play the game, Bella, I'll do my best to make sure that we have the smartest lawyers I can buy to put that son of a bitch in prison."

"I'm tired, Emmett."

"I know," he sighed. "Believe me, I know. But this is the first step."

She pulled her head away, watching him with curious, if not slightly damp, eyes.

"To fixing it," he explained softly. "Nothing gets done if we don't start work… and something this big can't be done alone."

"No," she agreed. Any remnants of that surging, overpowering pride were gone, at least for tonight. "It can't."

"So thank you for confiding in me," he continued. "I know it's not easy for you…"

 _You don't know the half of it,_ Bella thought, though she kept this musing to herself.

"Thank _you_ for listening," she said. "I swear, sometimes I wonder why you put up with me."

Despite himself—and despite her raw, tender nerves—he cracked a smile.

"Because I love you, that's why," he said. "I owe it to you, and I owe it to dad, to do whatever I can to keep this family from falling apart. We're all that's left, Bella, and I won't have it destroyed over something I can prevent."

If he'd spoken these words to her just last week, she would have told him he was crazy. She would have argued with him, told him that the family he seemed so keen to preserve had been shattered years ago, long before he had ever left home and eons before their father had grown ill. Their family—their days as a cohesive, functional unit—had fled on Renee's heels, following her out the door the day she'd walked out and abandoned her husband and children that cold and lonely winter almost twenty years ago.

But the hope in Emmett's eyes—the bright, eager optimism shining out like beacons—made her believe, even if only for a little while, that in the end, not all was lost.

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! We'll be revisiting Rose and Invictus in the next chapter for a little change of pace.**

 **As always, let me know what you think!**


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

The quiet familiarity of the office was soothing. Bella sat, unmoving, in the plush chair, her eyes roving over the space with mingled apprehension and nostalgia. She had spent such a short time here—only a few weeks, in truth—yet somehow, she felt like the place had become a part of her. This building, and more importantly, the people in it, had saved her from herself—they had plucked her, beaten down and defeated, from the ruins of her own life and had given her a new start. Without Invictus, Bella was not sure where she would be, or how she would have ended up there.

"Sorry." The door flew open and slammed shut with such a noise that Bella jumped. "I didn't think it would take me so long to get here…"

Bella chuckled.

"No worries," she said, stretching her arms. "I've got nowhere to be."

It was Bella's day off—she had just completed her first full week as Accounts Manager at Alice's Specialty Bake Shop. She had spent a busy five days on the phone with vendors, trying, despite her awkwardness, to barter. She had made it her mission to seek out a new sugar supplier, as the one currently on the books was charging them an exorbitant shipping fee. When she had grown sick of phone calls, Bella had busied herself in the filing cabinets, nosing through personnel files, old accounting records, and payroll information to familiarize herself with those few parts of the job that had been restricted to her until her promotion officially went through.

But all in all, Bella hoped that by Monday, she would have some good news to share with Alice.

Rose broke her out of her work thoughts with a sudden _thud—_ a binder, thick and heavy, plunked down on the desk between them.

"Here we are," said Rose, turning the binder so that Bella could read along. "Thanks again for your offer. You don't know how much it helps to have an extra set of eyes."

"No problem," said Bella earnestly, "but what exactly are we looking for?"

"Anything," said Rose grimly. Bella felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. "She's been gone since Tuesday, and I only give three days before I put out some feelers."

The evening before, Bella had received a strange and unexpected call from Rosalie. Bella's phone almost never rang—Emmett was a texter, and Alice, bless her, only ever sent memes. When the ringer had sounded Bella had leapt from the couch in surprise, startling her brother as he paused the movie they'd been watching in the large, spacious living room.

" _Hello?"_

" _Hi, Bella." Rosalie's voice, tinny and quiet through the speaker, was somber. "Do you have a minute?"_

" _Sure." Bella grimaced apologetically at Emmett. They had just been getting to the good part of the movie—if you could even call it that—and she knew her brother was loathe to pause anything he watched. Bella remembered that from childhood—no matter how badly she had to pee, how hungry she was, or who was at the door, Emmett had steadfastly and staunchly refused to pause to let her go._

 _She was glad, at least, that he had outgrown_ that _childish tendency._

 _But at the sight of her grimace, Emmett simply shook his head, frowning. He had seen the caller ID as easily as she had, and she knew he was curious what Rose had to say, especially this late at night._

" _Good." Bella heard shuffling papers over the other end of the phone, which brought her back to the present. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"_

" _Is everything okay?" asked Bella, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen as she became clouded with concern. Her tone must have attracted Emmett, as almost as soon as the quiet words were out of her mouth she heard him rise from the sofa to stand behind her, his warmth blocking the cold air register as she listened._

" _I'm alright," said Rose at once. "I'm not calling about myself."_

 _A beat._

" _Then what's wrong?" asked Bella, now hesitant. It was not like Rosalie to call—like Emmett, she preferred to text, and it was certainly not like her to be so serious._

 _A loud, deep sigh echoed over the line._

" _Have you heard anything from Kitty over the past few days?" asked Rose._

 _The question, so startling and unexpected, made Bella pause._

"… _no," she said slowly, speaking into the silence. Still, Emmett did not move. "Why?"_

 _The image of the girl in question—that happy-go-lucky inmate of Rose's institution—came flooding back all at once. Bella recalled her friendliness, her kindness in the face of Bella's awkward and fumbling shyness, and frowned._

" _Did she leave?" Bella hedged, worry bubbling up her throat to colour her words._

" _No. Yes… I don't know." Rose sounded so defeated that Bella had to pause. She waited, silent, for elaboration, and was rewarded for her patience when Rose spoke again._

" _She had a… relapse, I suppose," she sighed. "You know my rules—we're a sober house—and on Monday night she came home drunk. I could smell the rum on her from a mile away. She got loud and belligerent, and she fought me when I tried to put her to bed. She woke up T—those two have been having problems ever since Kitty found a new crowd to hang around with—and there was a massive blowout. The two of them shouting woke the entire floor, for God's sake…"_

 _Rose paused and Bella frowned, listening._

" _Anyways," Rose spoke brusquely, "the next morning, I went to grab the both of them—we always have some kind of mediation or debrief after a conflict—but Kitty wasn't in her room. She left no note, said nothing to anyone, and no one's seen her since early Tuesday morning."_

 _Bella's stomach sank and she bit her lip, thinking back to the last few days for a sign—_ any _sign—that Kitty might have tried to seek her out._

" _No," repeated Bella. "I haven't seen or heard anything from her."_

" _I figured as much," said Rose. "But I had to ask."_

 _Bella sniffed._

" _Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked._

" _Not tonight," said Rose. "I've done all I can for now. All of the bars on this end of town are on the lookout for her, and I've called the other shelters in town just in case she turns up there."_

" _What about tomorrow?" asked Bella. "Is there anything I can do then?"_

" _Just keep an eye out," said Rose. "If you see any sign of her, even if she's fine, please let me know?"_

" _Of course," agreed Bella, "but there must be something else I can do. Can I call anyone, or go somewhere to look? I've got Saturdays off now, and I don't have any plans…"_

 _Emmett would even be away, busy planning his New York promo with Marcus, and Bella had no desire to stay home alone in his huge, cavernous house._

 _Rose paused, seeming to consider the offer._

" _If you want to—and_ only _if you want to—you're welcome to come by Invictus tomorrow. I'll be there looking through records and calling around town to try and track her down. If you want to come and man the phones with me, you'd be more than welcome."_

" _Yes," said Bella eagerly, glancing over at the clock in the kitchen. "What time do you want me?"_

" _I'll be in by eight o'clock," said Rose. "So anytime after that. Don't rush…"_

" _Eight it is," said Bella. "See you tomorrow, Rose. I won't be late."_

And she hadn't been. One of the girls had let her in— someone Bella only vaguely recognized from her time there— and she'd taken up residence in Rose's office, waiting.

"If you want to take _these,"_ Rose slid a stack of papers towards Bella, "you can get started on emergency rooms."

Bella felt suddenly queasy.

"All you do is explain who you are, where you're from, and ask for any Jane Does or Katharine Elliotts."

Bella had never even known Kitty's full name.

"If they have a Jane Doe that matches Kitty," Rose pointed at the topmost paper, which held all of Kitty's intake information including her height, weight, colouring, and birthday, "then let me know immediately. We may end up taking a trip across town if we get a hit."

Bella, her fingers crossed childishly beneath the table, prayed that it wouldn't come to that.

"Who will you call?" she asked, accepting the cordless phone that Rose held out to her.

"Prisons and police stations," she answered, grim. "Kitty's got a good heart, but she's not always one to follow the rules."

Bella shivered. Although she hadn't known Kitty for very long, nor had she known her very well, Bella would be remiss if she said she cared nothing for her. Hers had been the first kind face Bella had seen on her first morning at Invictus. When Bella was lonely and nervous and new, Kitty had been kind to her, even though she didn't need to be. Bella felt like she owed her this, somehow—that even though Kitty had given her nothing but words and wisdom, Bella owed her whatever help she could give.

Bella would stay with Rose for as long as it took to make sure that she was safe. She picked up the first page of numbers from the top of the stack, and with careful, steady fingers, she dialled the phone.

* * *

"No, _Katharine,"_ growled Bella. "K-A-T…"

" _We've got no Elliotts booked in,"_ the woman replied. _"Is there another name?"_

"No," repeated Bella, for what felt like the umpteenth time. "No, I've already said…"

" _No Elliotts,"_ said the woman.

"What about Jane Does? Do you have any girls matching her description?"

" _I'm not authorized to give out patient information."_

"I'm not _asking_ for patient information!" Irritation bubbled up and Bella had to bite her lip to keep from shouting. "I'm _giving_ patient information. All I need to know is whether or not you've got an unidentified patient resembling Kitty…"

" _Kitty?"_

"Katharine Elliott!" Bella did shout this time. "I…"

" _I'm not authorized to give out…"_

"Yeah," Bella cut her off. "You've said. Could you put me through to someone who _can_ help me?"

" _One moment, please."_

The call disconnected.

Bella pulled the phone away from her ear, outraged, and glared down at it, as if _it_ were the one responsible. She could feel heat creeping up her neck— not from embarrassment or shame, but from pure, mounting irritation. _How is it possible,_ she thought, _for a hospital to employ someone without the wherewithal to transfer a simple phone call without screwing it up?_

"Take a break, Bella." The words were sharply spoken and Bella, startled, nearly dropped the phone. Frustrated and cranky, she jabbed the "End" button with her thumb and set the phone down on the table, running a hand roughly through her hair.

Rose watched her quietly, seeming to survey her.

"They're often tight-lipped at hospitals," she mused, leaning back in her chair. "They've got to adhere to privacy laws, after all. And since neither of us are family…"

Bella puffed out her cheeks, blowing out a long breath of air.

"I'm starting to get that," she said dryly, "but I didn't think it would be like pulling teeth. And after all that back and forth, that woman just hung up on me."

Rose chuckled.

"You should see how hard it is when they give me a false name," she said. "So many of them—especially those who've been on the streets for a while—don't trust me when we first meet. I can't count the number of times I've been looking for a Mary, only to find out that she's really Sandra, or Eleanor, or Maggie…"

Rose shook her head, turning to the open filing cabinet behind her chair. Bella did not know how she knew, but she reached immediately for one white folder among all the rest, pulling out a lone photocopy.

"Kitty Elliott has government-issued I.D.," she said, pulling out a copy of a driver's license listing a home address in Santa Monica. "So at least we know that much."

Bella glanced at the open cabinet drawers behind Rose's chair again, at the multitudes of white hanging folders that lay within. On each was a small plastic tab, some standing straight, others bent and off-kilter, but every last one of them bore a label. Typed in sterile, bold-face letters were hundreds of names, both real and fabricated, and as Bella stared, contemplative, the sheer number of them gave her pause. Each one of those folders represented a woman—and not just any woman. Each one represented a woman in need—a woman abused, a woman lost, a woman alone, or destitute, or frightened—and though it pained Bella to see them all there, lined up in neat, orderly rows, she knew that each of those files represented something else as well: hope. If her name was written here, a woman had been given a second chance. Some folders were paper-thin, barely noticeable in the row, while some were as thick as novels, but Bella supposed that was the way of things: some women who turned to Rose for help did so only once, as she had, while others turned her generosity into a revolving door, forever turning on its axis.

"Do you know what the worst part of this job is?" asked Rose suddenly. There was a new hardness, a distinct bitterness, in her voice that made Bella glance up, surprised. Rose's face was an exercise in control—a carefully schooled mask of calm and stoicism belied only by the icy glint flashing in her grey eyes.

"It's the not knowing," she bit out, before Bella even had a chance to respond. The words sounded like an echo of herself, speaking of something not so different on a night no so long ago. "I've lost girls before—sometimes forever—but nothing, _nothing,_ is worse than not knowing."

Bella almost said _"I know",_ but the words died before she could. Rosalie looked suddenly burdened—her shoulders, always so tall and proud, sunk as she slouched, and a stray curl from the tight bun on the back of her head fell into her eyes. It struck Bella then that she did not know Rosalie's true age, but in her quiet worry, she looked much younger than Bella knew she must have been. For the first time since she'd met Rose, Bella thought she could see what Rosalie would have looked like as a little girl. She wondered if this was the sister Jasper knew… the innocent, fresh-faced youth she'd once been when they were only children, in a time and place so far removed from this tense, white office.

"Rose?" Bella spoke softly—the pregnant pause that had lingered in Rose's silence seemed volatile, and Bella did not want to set it off.

"Sorry," muttered Rose, and with a shake of the head, she was back to herself. She sat tall, and the stray wisp of hair was tucked behind her ear in an instant. Anyone who didn't know Rose would have thought her well, but there was something about the set of her mouth and a lingering solemnity in her eyes that said otherwise.

Bella waited in the silence, her gaze transfixed on Rose, who refused to meet her eye.

"I wish…" The words cut the air like a hot knife through butter. "I wish…"

Rose turned to her, a mix of torment and worry etched onto her face.

"I wish she wouldn't have run," she said finally, shaking her head hard enough that another tendril came loose. "She was _safe_ here. She was loved. She had a _chance,_ even if it was only a small one…"

Bella felt suddenly hot, memories of her own flight from safety fresh in her mind. Rose either didn't notice the flush of her cheeks, or she was kind enough to keep quiet.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it can be, especially for a young woman, to be alone on the streets with no one to help her, and not a penny to her name? Have you any idea what kinds of sick, perverted people lie in wait, just _hoping_ that the right kind of girl will come along so they can lure her back to whatever hell they've created?"

Bella gulped, the fiery passion in Rose's voice keeping her silent. To anyone else, these words might have sounded like an accusation. To Bella, they sounded like pure and unbridled frustration.

"Of course you do… What am I saying?" Rose spoke almost to herself. "I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm just worried, and tired, and…"

Bella waited, but Rose fell silent.

"And?" she prompted. Rose looked at her then, really looked at her, and her face was so intense that Bella almost looked away. She held her ground, however, and eventually, Rose relented.

"Do you know why I started all of this?" Rose gestured around the office with her pen.

Bella shook her head.

"Because I wanted better," she said. "Most shelters… have you ever been in one?"

"Only this one," said Bella quickly.

"Count yourself lucky," said Rose. "Most of them aren't like this. Not at all."

Bella had only ever heard stories.

"Most shelters try their best, don't get me wrong, but I've always felt that there was more to be done. Most have a two-week limit, did you know that? They'll house you and feed you for two weeks before you're back out on the streets, in the same predicament you were in at the start. No money, no food, no shelter…"

Bella shook her head. She hadn't known.

"And there's almost nothing worse than that… to be shown a glimmer of hope—to be given such a fleeting, passing chance—only to have it snatched away the minute you realize it's real."

Bella did not know the feeling. She did not know what it felt like to have her hopes dashed, to be taunted with salvation only to be mercilessly and heartlessly denied.

She wondered, not for the first time, how Rosalie did.

"I wanted something better than that," continued Rose. "Someplace where women and their children could feel safe. Someplace that would actually help the people who need it, and not just drop them like flies the minute some other poor soul came knocking. I wanted something better than the places I've seen—and believe me, I've seen a few—where women are herded like cattle and treated like nothing but a number… just another mouth to feed."

Bella was torn between nervousness and curiosity. Who was this woman, really, beneath all of her suave confidence? What kind of life had driven her to this line of work, where she tirelessly and faithfully helped those in desperate need?

"How much has your brother told you about me?" asked Rose abruptly. Bella, startled, shook her head.

"Nothing," she replied. It was the truth—Emmett had told her very little of his relationship with Rosalie, and as far as Bella was concerned, this was an ideal arrangement. She had no desire whatsoever to pry into the sordid details of her brother's love life…

"Good man," murmured Rose. "I'd wondered if he'd keep my secrets."

"Emmett's good at secrets," murmured Bella softly. _They both were..._

"I asked him to keep this one," she said. "Not that I don't trust you, because I do," she stared at Bella with earnestness, "but because I wanted it to be my secret to tell. Sometimes, I wondered…"

"Wondered what?" asked Bella. The room was grew suddenly still and Bella, who sat in the silence with ever-growing wonder, waited with bated breath.

"Whether I should," said Rose cryptically.

"Should what?"

"Tell you," admitted Rose. "A few of the women here know, especially those I've grown close to, but you've been so anxious lately that I haven't even considered it. But then again, stories like ours do tend to forge a kind of kinship, don't they? And sometimes, that kinship is exactly what's needed to start someone on the right path..."

 _Stories like ours._ The words made Bella frown, and she sat up straight in her seat. Rose had her eye on her, no doubt gauging whether or not her words were doing harm, but Bella was careful to keep her face neutral.

"We're not exactly alike," began Rose, evidently concluding that Bella's mind was sound enough to hear the truth of what she had to say. Bella listened with rapt attention.

"I was married once, did you know that?"

"No," said Bella. No one, not even Rosalie herself, had ever shown any sign.

"Yeah." She began to fidget with a pen cap on the desk. "I met him in high school when Jasper and I still lived with our father in Texas."

Bella could picture the two of them, clear as day, as they must have been then—two blonde youths, trekking through the rippling heat of the glaring Texas sun...

"I was young," she continued, "and stupid. Jasper had warned me off of him— apparently even back then, Royce King had a reputation."

His named stirred something in Bella—something that forced her to listen on despite the gnawing discomfort that was beginning to claw at her insides. The story did not have a happy ending—of this, she was certain—and yet she sat, rapt with morbid attention, for the sake of her friend.

"He was charming," continued Rose, counting his virtues on her fingers. "Well off, handsome, smart… everything a woman could want in a man. He bought me flowers and took me out on weekends… he even had his own car, which was a rarity in our neck of the woods—an old, vintage Cadillac that even Jasper envied, and you know as well as I do that Jasper doesn't have a jealous bone in his body."

Bella couldn't help her smile.

"So naturally, when he asked for my hand, I said yes. My father wasn't very fond of either of his kids, but he was nothing if not traditional, and so he insisted on walking me down the aisle. I was only 19, and I was the last to leave home. Jasper had come out here for school. He flew back for the ceremony, of course, and I knew even then that he wasn't happy… but I'm rambling." She cut herself short.

Bella continued to stare, transfixed.

"Long story short, we got married," she said. "He had property way out in the country. His father had left him the family ranch just a year or so earlier, and that's where we lived."

She paused.

"I won't shock you with all the gory details," she said, "but I will say this—my ex-husband is a cruel and hateful man, Bella. Had it not been for one, lonely advertisement for a tiny transition house buried deep in the classifieds of a small-town newspaper, I might still be living there with that monster… or God knows where."

Bella's teeth were sunk so deeply into her lip that she almost tasted blood.

"Your James," Bella squirmed at the sound of his name, "never raped you like Royce did me. You didn't marry him, or love him, and you sure as hell weren't turned away by your own father when you pleaded with him to bring you home. But, oddly enough," Rose fixed a speculative stare on Bella, "Royce never pursued me. He never followed me, or taunted me, or left me threatening letters to find in the dark…"

The memory of that same letter, scrawled in grey charcoal on cheap notebook paper, almost made her flinch.

"But we were both marked," she continued. "Chosen, in our own ways…men like that—men who prey on those who are most vulnerable—look for girls like us. Easy girls. Pretty girls. Naïve, foolish, sheltered girls who've never known any better, and who couldn't spot a predator if he was two inches in front of her face." She spat the last words like a curse, as if the words themselves were somehow tainted, or dirty…

"So you see, Bella, I had to make a change. I founded this place because I wanted women—people like us—to feel safe. Not everyone has a big brother to come to her rescue like we did, and some don't even have a single remaining family member to care what happens to them. I wanted to help those who needed me to find a new family… I know how scary and dangerous It is to run with nothing, and so do you. So that's why it kills me that Kitty ran without so much as a goodbye. We could have helped her, Bella. And she _knew_ that. If she would have said something, I could have at least set her up in a halfway house, or tried to get her into a rehab centre so she could stop drinking…"

Bella realized then that her own frustration—her lack of patience at being transferred from department to department without answers— was nothing compared to Rosalie's disquiet. Kitty's absence disturbed her, brought something out in her that was desperate, angry, fierce, and protective all at once, and Bella suddenly realized just how earnest Rosalie really was. To the world, she was strong. To the world, she was sure. But just now, behind private doors, Bella saw her for who she truly was—just a woman like any other, desperate to keep her family safe and out of harm's way. Bella saw her, then— _really_ saw her— and for the first time in her life, fear was not a weakness. She did not see the anxiety, the agitation on Rose's face, and think _frail_ or _stupid._ She did not think of her as lesser or diminished, but rather as passionate, strong, and deeply, imperfectly, human.

"We'll find her, Rose," said Bella finally, breaking the silence. "She's out there somewhere, and we _will_ find her."

At once, Rose picked up her phone and turned it over in her hand.

"I hope you're right," she said. "By God, Bella, I hope you're right."

* * *

The knock on the door startled Bella, jolting her out of the Tchaikovsky-induced stupor into which she'd been lulled. She'd been listening to the Nutcracker Ballet— the dance of the Sugarplum Fairy, to be precise— on repeat for almost twenty minutes as she waited, yet again, to be connected to the Emergency Room physician, this time, at Cedars Sinai.

"Come in," said Rose lowly, turning the speaker away from her mouth. Evidently she, too, was on hold, with no end in sight.

The door cracked open and Bella saw a familiar, shorn head peek through, the bright, blue eyes rimmed red from crying.

"T," said Rose, putting the receiver down. Her finger pressed a button and elevator music, like the noise Bella had been hearing all day, rang through the room.

" _A desk clerk has not yet become available,"_ chimed a cool, female voice. _"Please remain on the line to have your call handled in sequence. If you are are calling for emergency services, please hang up now and dial 9-1-1…"_

"Rose," T cut through the automated voice with a sniffle. "Any word?"

"None," said Rose, her voice gentle. "We're having a hard time getting through, but I'm still hopeful something will turn up."

At the sound of _we,_ T's head swivelled around to face Bella. The abject surprise etched on her face told Bella that she had not been noticed before this, but her presence was not unwelcome. T moved forward at once, a small, watery smile on her lips.

"You look good, little girl," she said. When she reached out for a quick, one-armed hug, Bella did not refuse. "We've heard nothing but good things about you since you jumped ship…"

"I've been well," said Bella, not entirely truthful, but unwilling to burden this already overwrought woman with her troubles. "It's good to see you, T."

"You too, girl… You too." Her eyes flicked back to Rose. "Thanks for helping, anyways. You and Rosie both have the right way of speaking— real smart-sounding— so I guess folks will pay attention."

Rose sighed.

"What can I do for you, T?" she asked. "Do you have any news?"

"Nah." She shifted, rocking from left to right. "I was just wondering if you'd heard anything."

"No," repeated Rose. "Nothing yet. But we've got plenty of places left to call, and I've got my brother handing out her photo to his colleagues…"

"Kitty ain't gonna be caught by no policeman," said T at once, shaking her head. "She's too clever for that."

"Never say never," said Rose grimly. The Nutcracker Ballet was still loud in Bella's ear. "You'd be surprised to know just how many of my girls I've found in the drunk tank, or worse… in a women's prison."

T couldn't help the small, reluctant grin that crossed her face at Rose's words— the pleasure of being known as one of "Rose's girls" seemed to make her happy.

"Well," she sighed, "I suppose if anyone would know, it'd be you."

Rose grimaced.

"If she's still in this city, I _will_ find her," vowed Rose. "Even if takes me weeks. She has nowhere to go and no way to support herself, and if we wait long enough, she'll pop up again."

"I hope she's alright," said T, so softly that Bella almost didn't catch the words. Rose's ears were sharp, however, and she caught the quiet guilt when Bella didn't.

"It's not your fault," said Rose gently.

"Nah," said T. "I shouldn't have lost it on her like I did. That's why she skipped— you know how her daddy used to shout something fierce. I knew too, and yet I did it anyways…"

"Kitty is a grown woman," returned Rose. "If she was a child, I might be inclined to agree with you. But she's not. She's made her own choices, no matter what pushed her to them, and all we can do now is try to get her back."

T, defeated, hung her head.

"Thanks for trying, Rose," she sighed. "For real. You don't know how much it means to all of us upstairs…"

Rose glanced at Bella with a knowing look, and Bella, sympathetic, gave a small sigh.

"I've got some idea."

"No, really," continued T. "We—"

A loud, male voice, crackling in her right ear, made Bella jump, and at once, she snatched up her pen. All eyes in the room snapped to her in rapt attention.

"Dr. Michael Snow," came the voice. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Yes," said Bella quickly. "Yes, I'm here. Hello."

"My apologies for the wait," said the doctor. "We're rather busy today. But how can I help?"

"My name is Bella Swan, and I'm calling from Invictus Women's Centre…"

"What can I do for you, Miss Swan?"

"We're looking for one of our girls," said Bella. "Her name is Kitty Elliott— Katharine, that is— and she's been missing since…"

"Tuesday?" finished the doctor, and all at once, Bella felt her stomach turn over.

"Yes," she breathed, waving her hand towards Rose. "Rose handed her a fresh sheet of notebook paper. "Yes, Tuesday morning…"

"Can you describe the patient?"

"Five foot two," said Bella at once. She didn't even need to glance down at Kitty's intake sheet— she had memorized it all hours ago. "Slim. Dark blonde hair, brown eyes, with a blue dolphin tattoo on her right ankle…"

The doctor blew out a breath.

"I'd hoped someone would call for her," he said, and Bella, feeling both relieved and worried, gave Rose a grim thumbs up. The latter immediately hung up her own phone and began packing her purse.

"Is she okay?" demanded Bella. "We're on our way, but can you tell me that, at least?"

"She's listed as a Jane Doe right now," said the doctor. "No one's been able to speak with her yet. If you can come in with photo I.D. to verify details about yourself and the patient, as well as some kind of documentation that verifies her place of residence, then I'll be able to give you more information. We're located at…"

"I know where to find you," breathed Bella, reaching blindly for her handbag under the table. "Thank you so much, doctor…"

"You're welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No," said Bella. "We'll see you shortly."

"Go straight through to the triage nurse and ask for me," said Doctor Snow. "I'll be waiting."

"Thank you."

"Goodbye, Miss Swan."

"Goodbye…"

She had barely hung up the phone before she turned to Rose, forgetting all about T still lingering by the door.

"Cedars Sinai," said Bella in a rush. "ER, ask the triage nurse for Dr. Snow. There's a Jane Doe that matches her description— right down to her tattoo— but we need to bring a copy of everyone's identification and proof that she lives here."

Rose was already in Kitty's folder, her hands full of intake papers and photocopies.

"Let's go," said Rose to Bella. "Good work. Excuse me, T…"

At once, T stood aside, but neither Bella nor Rose paid any mind to the sudden look of dread on her face.

"If you need anything, you know the drill," said Rose. T nodded. "I've got my cell phone. I'll call the common room on the second floor if I have any news."

"Thanks, Rose…" T's voice shook. "Good luck."

Bella was out of Rose's office like a shot, hot on Rose's heels as they darted into the small parking lot.

"In," said Rose brusquely, ushering Bella into the passenger seat of the red Beemer. Rose tore away before Bella could buckle up, though she didn't complain.

* * *

Bella stood behind Rose, her heart in her throat as she listened to the exchange with the triage nurse, trying to ignore the sounds of coughing and sniffling from the chairs behind her. It was rare for Bella to be on this side of the ER— the last time she had waited like this, her nerves raw, was when her father had been ill. But even then, she hadn't been expected to _prove_ who he was, and she surely hadn't been denied access to his bedside…

"Katharine Elliott," repeated Rose.

The nurse typed.

"Dr. Snow just wants me to verify your information before I send you back," she said kindly. "Can I see her I.D.?"

Rose produced the photocopy, slipping it under the glass between herself and the nurse.

"Excellent…" She began to type. "And we also need to verify your information. Do you have some I.D.? Or something with your place of employment and credentials…"

Impatient, Rose thrust more documents towards the nurse— hers and Bella's driver's licenses, a copy of Kitty's signed and dated intake form, and a notarized letter from the city that authorized her to run her facility as a non-profit shelter.

"Excellent…" Rose tapped her nails on the counter. "Come right through those doors there…"

Rose didn't even look where she was pointing before she stalked off at a swift pace, pushing the door open just long enough for Bella to sneak in after her. She did not like the feel of the place— the scent of disinfectant, the glint of shiny, sterile plastic, and the sound of beeping, and running, and chattering put her on edge.

Rose turned a corner.

"Right through here… Doctor Snow is just finishing up with a patient. He'll be right over to answer any questions you might have."

"Thank you," said Rose.

"Thanks…"

The nurse bustled off.

Bella stared at Rose.

"Now, we wait." She blew out a long breath. "It sucks, just sitting here..."

"Yeah."

Rose turned sharply at the hesitance in her voice, and Bella flushed red, clearing her throat.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Bella. "I'm fine."

Rose narrowed her eyes.

"I just hate hospitals," she admitted. "But never mind me. That's not what matters."

Rose shrugged.

"You did well today, Bella."

"Did I?" Bella laughed. "Seemed like an awful lot of nothing…"

"Not nothing," corrected Rose. "You really helped out."

"Sure."

"I mean it," said Rose. "It's nice to have another set of hands to help out with these things. If I'd done it alone…"

She shook her head.

"It was nothing," said Bella. "I was glad to do it."

"Well, thank you…" Rose trailed off, and Bella couldn't help but notice a peculiar look on her face.

"What?"

"I…"

"Miss Hale?"

Both Bella and Rose turned at once, honing in on the tall, middle-aged man standing in the gap between the curtains. Bella followed as Rose stood and reached out a hand, leaving Bella to huddle awkwardly behind her.

"Rosalie Hale," she said at once. "Please… call me Rose."

"Rose," said the Doctor. "And…?"

He looked at Bella.

"Bella Swan," said Rose. "My assistant."

Bella did not correct this new title, but meekly shook the doctor's hand.

"You're both most welcome, ladies," he said. "Shall we talk before we move on?"

"Absolutely." Rose sat back down. Bella copied. "What can you tell us?"

"For starters," The doctor perched himself in a chair opposite them, "that our Jane Doe is your Katharine Elliott."

Rose sighed.

"Is she alright?"

"She's stable," said the doctor. "And in no immediate danger."

"That's a good start."

"It is," he agreed. "But…"

"But?"

"But I can tell you that whoever dropped her here is being sought by police."

"Police?" Bella piped up, frowning.

"Indeed." The doctor clasped his hands. "I don't know _how_ Miss Elliott sustained the injuries she did, but I _do_ know that they were no accident. The detective in charge will want to speak with you, Miss Hale, about the security measures in place at your establishment."

Rose pulled a notepad from her bag, and snapped the cap off of a pen.

"Detective McAdams," said the doctor, rattling off a phone number. Rose took diligent notes. "Whoever did this is certainly had malicious intent."

Rose grimaced.

"How bad?"

"Bad enough," said the Doctor. "She was dropped off at our front door in the middle of the afternoon on Tuesday. No one saw her arrive, and no one saw anyone dropping her off…"

Rose scribbled.

"All we know is that she _was_ dropped off. She has a broken nose, a sprained wrist, lacerations to her palms and fingers, as well as a broken cheekbone and and two spectacularly black eyes. She was unconscious when we found her, but there's no sign of permanent injury. We've been keeping her here mostly for her own safety— we were reluctant to send her out on her own, not knowing where she would end up— and we also want to make sure that her concussion doesn't worsen."

Bella swallowed.

"But aside from that," the doctor rose from his seat, "she hasn't said a thing to anyone. Maybe she'll talk to you, since she knows you."

"I certainly hope so," said Rose, grim. "Can we see her, doctor?"

"Yes. Follow me."

* * *

"Get some rest," said Rose, and Bella, her eyes fixed on the bed, shifted awkwardly by the door. She did not like these tears— everything in her wanted to do something, _anything,_ to soothe them away…

But Bella was no good at soothing. When they had walked through the door, Rose's heels snapping on the cold tile, it had been she that Kitty had reached out for— pitiful, and sad, and small as she was in her time of need. Rose hadn't turned her away— Bella didn't expect her to, no matter how angry she was— and she had watched, both relieved and disconcerted, as Kitty cried her plight into Rose's collar.

"I'm sorry…" she wept. "I'm so sorry, Rose…"

"I know," soothed Rose. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing Kitty's hair away from her bruised and battered face. "I know. Never mind that. I'm just glad we found you."

Kitty cried.

"Please don't send me away…"

"Hush, now," scolded Rose. "No one's going anywhere…"

"Please…"

"I'll be back tomorrow," promised Rose. "I'm not sure when— I need to ask the nurse when we're allowed— but when I come, I'll bring you something to eat. I'm sure the food here sucks…"

Her feeble attempt at humour was not appreciated, and Kitty all but ignored it in her desperate appeal.

"Please don't throw me out."

"I'm _not_ going to throw you out," said Rose again. "You just focus on healing, then we'll talk about what needs to happen next."

Kitty's lip trembled, and she looked to Bella instead.

"Please don't throw me out," she repeated.

"I…" Taken aback, Bella shook her head. "I would never…"

Bella had no authority to do anything of the sort, but Kitty seemed to have forgotten that.

"I'm sorry I fucked up," she continued. "Please don't make me leave…"

She reached out to Bella then, and Bella felt a sinking sadness deep in her chest. She stepped closer and took the outstretched hand, offering her a gentle smile to assuage her tears.

"Just focus on feeling better," said Bella. Her cheeks went red when Rose began to watch her. "Never mind anything else. What matters now is getting healthy."

Kitty's fingers tightened.

"We'll be back tomorrow," promised Rose. "Right, Bella?"

"Sure," said Bella, desperate to make those tears stop. "If you want me."

"I do," said Kitty. "I've missed you, and…"

"Okay." Bella leaned in for a quick hug. "Tomorrow, then…"

Kitty sniffled.

A cluck from the doorway made all three women turn.

"It's time for your meds, darling," said a kind, stout, old nurse from the door. She held a plastic tray of equipment in her gloved hands. "Don't worry, it won't hurt…"

"That's our cue," said Rose softly. "Rest up, and listen to the pros. They know how it's done." She winked at the nurse. Kitty wiped her cheeks on her sleeve.

"Promise you'll come back," she begged.

"I promise," said Rose. "When have you ever known me to break one of those?"

Kitty shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "Really, I am…"

"Lay down."

She obeyed.

"Let the nurse see your IV line, and try to _relax_." The nurse began fiddling with the tubes. "I mean it. If you give yourself an aneurysm, they'll keep you here even longer."

The nurse chuckled, even if Kitty didn't.

"Regular visiting hours are from noon to six," said the nurse. "We made special allowances for you today, but tomorrow, I expect the doctor will be more strict."

"See?" Rose raised a brow. "We'll be back tomorrow afternoon, then…"

Kitty gave a sad, short nod.

"Get some sleep, and don't worry too much. You're safe in here, and we're going to make sure you're safe at home, too…"

The word _home_ seemed to make her eyes light up.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome... Bella?"

Bella jumped.

"We've got to go," said Rose. Bella tore her eyes away from Kitty's hand, where the nurse was injecting something clear into the IV line.

"Right," said Bella. "See you later, Kitty…"

"We have to get going before we get booted out," repeated Rose. "But remember: tomorrow afternoon, Kit…"

"Tomorrow afternoon," repeated Kitty.

Bella ducked out of the room, waving a soft goodbye to the girl in the bed, as she followed an unsmiling, contemplative Rose down the second floor hallway.

Neither said a word until they reached the car. Rose watched Bella as she slipped into the passenger's seat, her eyes glued resolutely on the black floor mat, and she waited a long moment before she sighed and started up the car.

She pulled out of the parking lot before she turned to Bella, her eyes torn between the road and her companion.

"You've gone quiet," said Rose softly.

Bella shrugged.

"What's got your tongue?"

"Nothing," chuckled Bella, tired and thoughtful.

"No?"

"It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Is that how it always is?" asked Bella. "When girls go missing, I mean…"

"You know first-hand that it's not," said Rose. _"You_ went missing once, too, remember?"

Bella's cheeks reddened.

"Yeah…"

Silence.

"But it sometimes is," said Rose. "More often than not, if someone's been hurt, it's because they got drunk and fell down, or they've overdosed, or they've succumbed to alcohol poisoning. People forget after being sober for so long that they don't have the tolerance they used to have, and usually, when they get hurt, it's because they've gone back to their old habits and have gone way overboard.

Bella grimaced.

"No, but…" She shook her head. "I mean… is it usually like _that?_ Someone obviously beat her up, and she was so upset…"

"That depends," said Rose. "Some of my girls get beat up and don't bat an eye. T's been knocked around about half a dozen times since she came to me last year, and she's never once shed a tear in my presence. But T's a fighter— always has been— and she's used to it."

"But Kitty?"

"She's not," shrugged Rose. "She's had her own troubles, but she's not one to be roughed up."

Bella shook her head.

"How do you do it?" she asked, turning around in her seat to face Rose. "How do you do this kind of thing, every day, knowing that it's probably going to happen again, and again, and again…"

The very thought exhausted her.

"With great patience," said Rose quietly. "With lots of compassion, and as little judgment as I can muster, and with the knowledge that even if I do my best, sometimes, that's not good enough. It's not an easy job by any means, but even with the numerous and constant failures, I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Bella blinked.

"But Kitty's case is not a failure, Bella," said Rose seriously. "I know you think it is, but…"

There was a long pause.

"It's not," finished Rose lamely. "She's had a setback, that's for sure, but she's _not_ a failure. She's still here. She's sorry. She wants another chance, and she seems ready to try... So long as she gets back up, she will _not_ become one of my failures."

The vehemence and seriousness with which she spoke made Bella shiver.

"I could never do it."

"You could," Rose argued, giving Bella a sidelong glance that seemed to pierce through her. "You really, really could…"

"I don't have the patience…"

"You do," interrupted Rose again. "Don't sell yourself short. You've got more patience than a lot of people I know."

Bella thought back to her short-tempered response to the obstinate telephone operator and snorted.

"You do," insisted Rose. "Look at how good you were to her back there… You didn't judge her— or if you did, you didn't let it show— and you were kind, and sensitive..."

"To Kitty?" Bella blinked. "Well of course I was decent to her…"

"So?" Rose asked. "What's the problem, then?"

"I could never keep my cool when I'm getting nowhere," said Bella quietly. "When I try my best and it does nothing..."

"It never does nothing," corrected Rose. "It always does something. And you know what?"

"What?"

"Even if your best isn't good enough, that doesn't mean that someone else's might not be," she said. "In this job, the key is to know when to ask for help. It's to know your strengths, and most importantly, to know what you _don't_ know."

Bella frowned.

"Well, I don't know much," she said, "but it felt good to help. Thanks for letting me tag along."

Rose eyed her again.

"You know…"

"What?"

"You _could_ learn," said Rose carefully. "You'd be good at it, if it's something that interests you…"

Bella's face screwed up.

" _I_ did it," said Rose. "And the qualifications give you so many networks, it's unbelievable."

"What qualifications?"

"What do you want to do with the rest of your life, Bella?"

The question was so overarching and sudden that Bella, caught off guard, blinked stupidly at her.

"I have no idea." She shook her head. "Why?"

"Because you can't want to work in retail all your life… you've got so much potential that it would be a waste not to see it through."

Bella didn't know whether to be flattered or offended.

"I haven't thought much about it," replied Bella. "Not with everything going on…"

"Life doesn't stop just because it gets tough," said Rose sagely. If anyone else had said this, Bella would have bristled, but she forced herself to be silent and still, listening.

"You _could_ , if you want to…"

"Could what?"

"Have you ever thought about work like this?" asked Rose. She gestured to the file wedged between Bella's seat and the armrest.

"No," said Bella honestly. "I haven't thought much about anything like that…"

"Well you should," said Rose bluntly. "You'd be good at it. You've got the smarts, and the patience…"

Bella frowned.

"And you've got that little bit of personal experience that sets you apart from the rest. Like I said before… there's a kind of kinship forged between people with stories like ours. We can make connections that other people can't. I know they say you shouldn't become invested— that you shouldn't let yourself get upset, or worried, or scared for any of your clients— but sometimes, that's what these women need. They need to know that _someone_ cares about them _—_ even if it is only a social worker. And you _do_ care, Bella. It shows. Just the fact that you're so anxious to get it right…"

Bella stared resolutely through the windshield as Rose turned the corner.

"You'd do well," she finished. "And if you _did_ decide to go forward with it…"

Rose sounded so suddenly soft— so suddenly _affectionate—_ that Bella glanced up.

"...I'd be happy to take you on."

It took a minute for the words to sink in.

"What?"

"You heard me," laughed Rose. The strange bubble that had been created as Rose spoke popped at once and Bella blinked, still staring at the side of her face. Rose chuckled at her look of surprise but did not revoke her offer, and Bella felt suddenly, fearfully, excited.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes…" Rose spoke calmly. "I need some extra hands now that I've expanded to over twenty beds, and I absolutely cannot bear to hire anyone I don't know. And I don't know _anyone_ with the proper credentials and personality to do the job…

"What is it with your family?" Bella asked, still shellshocked. "You guys all want me to work for you."

Rose snorted.

"It's not my family," she returned. "We just happen to be employers. _You're_ the marketable employee."

Bella blushed.

"I…"

"Think about it," said Rose. "I don't expect an answer now. It would be quite some time before you're even qualified— three or four years at least— though I'd be happy to take you on in any capacity once the wheels are in motion... _if_ the wheels are ever in motion," she added softly.

Bella shook her head again.

"I…" She blew out a breath. "I just…"

"If you don't want to," said Rose quickly, "then don't. But if you do…"

"I don't know how I could," admitted Bella softly. "I would do it… believe me, Rose…"

Rose gave her a strange, questioning look.

"Do you _want_ to go to school?" asked Rose. "For anything, really… it wouldn't have to be social work… but for anything at all?"

"That's all I've ever wanted," laughed Bella. "But that ship has sailed. Charlie shut that down a long time ago."

Rose pursed her lips.

"No ship has ever sailed that hasn't come back to port," said Rose, and Bella snorted. "It's college, Bella. Not the Titanic."

She sighed.

"It's on my list," she said finally. Rose pulled into the parking lot of Invictus. "It'll happen someday… maybe."

"Yeah…"

Rose was watching her curiously.

"What?"

"Nothing." Rose looked away.

"No… what?" she insisted. "You look… strange."

Rose snorted. "Thanks Bella."

"Not like that…" Bella shook her head impatiently. "You just look…"

"I'm fine," said Rose at once. "Don't worry about it."

Bella crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I…"

"I'm _fine."_ Rose smiled to prove her point. "See? Fine."

"Sure…"

"Think about what I said, Bella…" Rose glanced up at the sky, which had grown inky and dark since their departure some hours prior. "You don't have to decide now, or even soon, if you don't want to, but think about it. If it's something you want…"

Bella bit her lip.

"... then you should do it."

"I know." _Maybe…_

A beat passed between them.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" asked Rose. "I can swing by and pick you up, if you want…"

"That would be great."

"Have a good night, Bella… let me know when you get home safe."

"I will."

"See you, Bell…"

"Bye Rose."

And as Bella drove away into the bright, city lights, all she could think about was Rose's proposition, and the frightening, maddening hope it had ignited deep in her chest.

 **A/N: Leave some love!**


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

"Don't tell me what to do, Bella."

"I'm not _telling_ you. I'm _asking_ you."

"I didn't hear a question mark."

"Please, Emmett," she begged, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I do _not_ want to."

"So you've said."

"I mean it."

"Ooh…" Emmett waggled his eyebrows at her. "I'm _sooo_ scared."

Bella growled.

"Easy," laughed Emmett, ruffling her hair. "It's your day. Whatever you want. But just know this…"

Bella glared.

"Not even _I_ can stop Alice," he cackled.

Bella groaned.

"I'll talk to Rose…"

"Good luck!" he crowed. "The only person who can rein that little thing in is Jasper, and you know damn well he'll be more of a hindrance than a help. Even Rose says it— that man is _whipped."_

Bella grimaced, banging her head against the wall.

"What's the big deal, anyways?" he asked. "It's not a _bad_ thing… you should be excited."

Bella, unable to help herself, gave a grimace. Emmett laughed at her— no doubt he thought her melodramatic, but Bella could not help herself.

"It just is," she grumbled. "I don't want a fuss."

"You'd think you were turning 80 instead of 23..."

"I wish." Emmett barked a laugh.

"Oh, get over it," he chuckled. "Where's your sense of wonder?"

Bella scowled at him.

"I mean it." She pointed a finger at his chest. "No party, no cake, no gifts…"

He laughed in earnest this time.

"Sorry, kiddo. No can do."

"What?"

"Nope." He gave his head a cheerful shake. "No can do. I _might_ have been able to nix the party, but I know for a fact that Alice is already planning on invading, not to mention that Leah's already got the cake prepared. You know as well as I do that she's worse than the pixie."

Bella, disgruntled, huffed.

"No presents then," she bargained. "I'll sit nicely through Alice and cake, but no presents. I _hate_ presents."

"No one hates presents," scoffed Emmett. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I do," she insisted.

"Party pooper."

Bella didn't reply.

"So if you don't like parties…"

"Or cake, or presents," Bella supplied unhelpfully.

"...then what in the hell do you usually do on your birthday?"

Bella sighed.

"Nothing," she shrugged. "Well… not entirely nothing."

"No?"

"I usually spend the day avoiding Charlie," she said delicately. "It would seem that you and he share the same opinion on birthdays. He would always buy a cake, even when I told him not to, and he'd always wake me up first thing in the morning, before I could leave for school and avoid him…"

"Ooh… so daddy-o was sneaky, was he?"

She shot him a look of warning.

"Don't even _think_ about it."

"Wouldn't dream of it!" he said, a little too innocently. "But pray, tell… why did Charlie feel the need to sneak?"

"Because he knew that if he didn't, I'd avoid him like the plague," she grimaced. "Him and his present."

"His present?"

"Always the same," sighed Bella. In truth, she did not know how she felt about her birthday this year. Some part of her was sad, as she knew she would be without her father's silent stubbornness, but another part of her— some part that she'd been trying desperately to silence for nigh on two weeks— was excited. That part of her was ten years old again, and so giddy over the whole thing…

"A camera," Bella said finally. "He started off with disposables when I was young, then he gave me a Polaroid. When the film for those got too hard to find, he bought me my first digital."

Emmett smiled at her.

"And after that, once I'd graduated up to a nice one, he'd give me albums. Nice ones— not like the ones you see at Walmart or the dollar store— but expensive ones with all kinds of decorating stuff. He'd tell me to use it at school so I could document my year."

"And did you?" asked Emmett.

"Sure." She gave an awkward shrug. "It was thoughtful, even if I didn't really like pictures…"

But Bella trailed off, because in all honesty, she was not sure she could say that she truly disliked her father's gift.

"Sweet," said Emmett. "I didn't think he had it in him."

And all at once, the mood was squashed and Bella scowled at him, rolling her eyes.

"Regardless," she said, "that's done now. So please, no presents."

Emmett grinned wickedly at her, but made no promises.

Bella groaned when he slipped away.

* * *

Bella sat, disgruntled and petulant, before her plate of eggs and toast while her brother, still dressed in his t-shirt and boxers, danced around the kitchen, humming his own off-tune version of _Happy Birthday._

"Eat up!" Emmett chortled. Bella stabbed moodily at her plate. "Places to go and people to see, kiddo!"

"You're not even dressed," complained Bella.

"It'll take me five minutes," said Emmett. Dragging a stool noisily across the tiled floor, Emmett plunked himself down before his own plate, which was overflowing with bacon and toast. He took a bite. "Don't you worry about me. Are you all ready to go?"

"That depends…" Bella put down her fork. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Ah!" Emmett waggled his eyebrows maddeningly. "It's a secret."

"I'm going to find out," she groused. Graciousness, it would seem, was not her way today. "Even if you don't want me to."

"You will not," Emmett scoffed. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. I've got it all sorted out."

Bella polished off her toast.

"I suppose I am ready," she conceded finally, grimacing as Emmett shoveled his ungodly portion into his face. "But…"

Emmett, leaping from his stool, confiscated her empty plate at once, and tossed it haphazardly into the dishwasher.

Scandalized, Bella rose to her feet to fix it, ignoring Emmett's protests.

"No dishes on your birthday!" he cried, though his plea was ignored. "Hey!"

Bella rinsed both plates before she faced him, a grim satisfaction filling her at the sight of his annoyance.

"Go and get ready, if we're going out," Bella suggested idly, and Emmett shook his head. "Wouldn't want to be late."

"No, we wouldn't," he agreed. "That's the smartest thing you've said all day."

He escaped before Bella could reply.

* * *

When he pulled her out of the door, stumbling and clumsy, she held tight to his arm.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked. She blinked uselessly against the darkness. "I won't peek. I promise…"

"Of course you will, so yes, it is," said Emmett easily. "Step down. You've got two stairs to go."

Feeling with her feet on the edge of the concrete stairs, Bella slowly and carefully lowered her foot to the step below. She could see nothing but blackness— her brother, in all his excitement, had emerged from his bedroom after breakfast to find her, still pouting on the sofa where he'd left her not fifteen minutes prior. He'd washed his face and found some passable clothing that wouldn't attract too much attention, but neither of those things are what Bella had stared at when he'd come down with a mysterious, yet disconcerting grin on his face.

The scarf— a thin, woolen thing that no one in Los Angeles could ever wear without irony— had dangled like a snake from his hand, and Bella had taken it with hesitant, questioning fingers.

" _Thanks?"_

" _You're welcome,"_ he'd said. _"Put it on."_

" _Uh…" She wrapped the scarf, which smelled clean, at least, around her neck and shoulders. The tassels tickled her elbow. "Why?"_

" _No…" Emmett reached out and unwrapped it quickly. "Not like that."_

 _And when he brought it up to her eyes, tying a tight knot at the back of her head, Bella had balked._

" _Hey!" She shook out of his grip and tugged it down. "What…"_

" _Put it on!" he'd insisted, ignoring her displeasure. "Not for long… just until we get to the surprise."_

" _I said I didn't want…"_

" _Yeah, yeah." He tugged it back up over her face. "You've said."_

 _And then she'd been left in the dark, standing in the middle of the living room like an idiot while her brother, stepping gingerly around Trixie dancing at their feet, checked that no hint of light could make it through the fabric._

"Here," said Emmett, and Bella felt grass through her sandals on her feet. "Two steps left."

"Where?"

"This way," said Emmett. She heard the sound of a car door. "Good. Step in."

"Step in what?" she grumbled.

"To your left." Bella could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Take another step… there you go."

Bella felt the glossy leather interior of her brother's Mercedes, and though her suspicion had not yet died down, she carefully folded herself inside. As soon as her foot was clear of the door Emmett slammed it shut, and Bella, sighing, reached over for the seat belt. She buckled herself in with relative ease, fumbling only to find the latch, and when Emmett pulled the car out of the driveway, she folded her arms.

"You know…" Emmett made a sharp left and Bella hit the door. "You could at least _pretend_ to be excited."

"I made a promise not to lie, remember?" she said. Even to herself, she sounded petulant, but her brother chortled. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Emmett repeated and Bella bit her tongue. "But I promise… you'll like it."

"Are we meeting people?" she asked. "Because my hair is going to be a mess."

"You're fine," dismissed Emmett. "Never mind your hair."

"Are we meeting anyone… _important?"_

"Maybe…"

"Does it have to do with your promos?"

"No."

"Is it out of town?"

"No."

"Are we…"

"Enough," Emmett said, and Bella cut herself short. "Don't worry so much."

"I hate surprises."

"So you've said."

"Are we going to get Rose?"

"Not this time," Emmett laughed. "But never mind. You'll find out soon enough."

"I said no presents," Bella reminded him.

"And I made no promises," Emmett pointed out.

Bella bit her tongue and sighed, tapping her toe on the rubber floor mat.

Down winding roads and through busy, stuttering streets, Bella rode, blind and dumb, as her brother steered them closer and closer to whatever mystery they were pursuing. She could not see the clock, so she did not know how long they rode, but the entire way, she counted time by songs. Her brother fiddled with the radio— she could hear his fingers on the buttons as he passed station after station, settling only when he found a classic rock broadcast. _Hotel California_ blasted through the speakers before _Sweet Home Alabama,_ and countless others in between before Emmett cranked the speakers up way too high, and sang an off-tune rendition of _Don't Stop Believin'._

Bella's ears were ringing by the time the car was turned off, and they sat for a moment in sudden, but blissful, silence.

"Come on," Emmett said. "We're getting out now."

"Sorry, I can't hear you," Bella scowled. "I think I've gone deaf."

Emmett, laughing at her again, came around to her side of the car and took her hand, pulling her gently from the car.

"Forward and onward!" he sang as Bella stumbled over a curb. "Come on!"

A low, dulled roar rang in the distance.

"What is that?" she demanded, but her brother, both hands clasped securely on her shoulders, steered her to the left. "Where are we?"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Emmett said. "Nevermind. Step up…"

Bella felt the step before she could trip. As soon as her feet hit this new platform, the familiar pneumatic hiss of automatic doors made her pause.

"Forward," Emmett directed, and Bella took another careful step. A blast of cold air— blissfully crisp against the sticky humidity outside— made her shiver.

"Where are we?" she tried again. "What…"

"Ah, Mr. Swan!"

"You must be Shane."

"Indeed… Come with me. Your cargo hasn't _quite_ arrived. We're expecting it on—"

"Ah!" Emmett cut the man off as Bella, frowning, reeled with curiosity. "Don't give me away. It's a birthday surprise."

He patted her patronizingly on the head. Bella, though she longed to protest, remembered her manners well enough not to duck away.

"Of course," said the stranger. "Of course, sir. Come with me, and we'll put you in the waiting room we've prepared for you."

"Thank you…"

"And when your, uh… _package_ arrives, we'll be sure to have someone deliver it directly."

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome. Follow me."

His hands gripped her shoulders again, and Bella, feeling distinctly silly, allowed her brother to steer her after the stranger. Bella could hear his footsteps— muffled, rubber soles thumping against what she thought was a solid, tiled floor. Her own shoes squeaked— obnoxious in the silence, but unavoidable as she stumbled with each step she took.

"Here we are…" The opening of a door. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. If there's anything I can get you…"

"No, this is great. Thank you," said Emmett. "You've been a huge help."

"Thank you, sir. Anything you need, you let me know."

"Will do. Thanks again."

"I'll be back shortly."

The door clicked shut.

"Can I take this stupid thing off yet?" demanded Bella. Emmett lowered her into a chair. "It itches."

"Yes, Whiny, you can take it off now." Bella could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "And don't even _try_ to figure out where we are. There's nothing in here that will give me away."

And so, when Bella pulled down the scarf and tossed it onto the floor, she saw that he was right.

They were in a room— a small, yet comfortable room equipped with a flat-screen television, a low, wooden table, and a few chairs and couches lined up against the walls. The walls were a soft, neutral taupe, without so much as a blemish to give her any hints as to their whereabouts. The floor, made from speckled linoleum, was spotlessly clean, and though there was an array of snacks and drinks on the center table, there were no logos or branding to be seen. The television was tuned to CNN— muted, and with captions— and Bella sighed, sitting back in her seat. An old, analog clock ticked steadily behind Emmett's head.

"What's in the package?" she asked, grinning to herself when she saw Emmett's brows twitch.

"What package?"

"The, uh… _cargo."_ Bella mimicked the stranger.

"Never mind," he said again. He reached over to the table and tossed a package of Oreos at her. "Have a cookie."

"Don't distract me with snacks," said Bella. "You'd better not have bought me something expensive."

Emmett simply waggled his brows at her before he snatched a mini bag of Doritos from the table and began to eat.

"I mean it," she said, glancing nervously at the door. "I _specifically_ asked…"

"Oh, don't be such a brat," said Emmett, and Bella felt her cheeks heat up. "The proper thing to do when someone gives you something is to smile and say _thank you."_

"Thank you," said Bella awkwardly, her cheeks hot with sudden embarrassment, "but I mean it…"

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Please shut up."

She sank back in her chair.

The clock ticked on.

For twenty minutes Bella sat, her foot tapping a frenetic rhythm on the tiled floor, as she waited— though for what, only Emmett knew. Her brother was relaxed— he lounged back in an armchair, Bella's abandoned Oreos cracked open on his stomach, and Bella watched with mounting queasiness as he ate his way through an entire row. CNN droned on— Emmett had turned the volume up, and Bella listened as two political commentators shouted over each other and the moderator, until the feeds were cut and a commercial came on.

Emmett polished off the last cookie in the row and sat himself up, brushing crumbs off of his shirt.

"If they keep us waiting any longer, I'm going to get fat," he complained. The clock flashed 1:30. "We were supposed to be out of here fifteen minutes ago."

Bella frowned, but kept her mouth shut.

"You're seriously not tempted?" asked Emmett, waving a packet of goldfish crackers at her. "It's all free, you know, and it's your birthday…"

"No," said Bella, shaking her head. "I ate enough at breakfast."

"You can _never_ eat enough at breakfast," countered Emmett, and Bella cracked a reluctant smile at the seriousness of his expression. "There will never be enough bacon. I mean…"

A knock on the door— so unexpected that Bella jumped— cut him off, and Emmett's face broke into a sudden grin as he leapt from his seat. He bounded to the door before Bella could, and when he flung it open, Bella saw an unfamiliar man wearing a blue suit.

"Arrived safe and sound," said the man. "Shall I bring it to you?"

"No," Emmett beamed back at Bella with sudden excitement on his face. "No, we'll come out."

"As you wish, sir…"

"Let's go, Bell." He waved her forward. "Which way?"

"Right, sir," said the man, pointing them towards the gathering throngs of people. "Gate 36."

"Thank you…"

When Emmett took her hand and pulled her forward, and Bella suddenly understood. Bustling crowds of men and women rushed to and fro, pulling luggage and pushing baby carriages. Children ran in and out of gift shops tailed by their harassed and flustered mothers, and a loudspeaker— how had she not heard it before?— announced the incoming and outgoing flights. A plane to Houston was boarding at Gate 15. A passenger— one Mrs. Hutchins— was called to board her flight on Gate 23. Luggage from American Airlines flight 5465 was available on carousel number 2, and a plane, inbound from O'Hare International, was disembarking at Gate 36.

 _Gate 36. Chicago…_

"Emmett?" Bella felt a shaky sort of excitement— one she did not dare let grow into something more— bubbling in her chest. Her brother beamed at her but said nothing, pulling her nearer to the gate. The screen above the American Airlines counter flashed bright, and Bella felt her heart in her throat.

 _Flight Number: 4434 (American Airlines)_

 _Origin: Chicago O'Hare International_

 _Destination: LAX (Gate 36)_

 _Status: ARRIVED_

The doors behind the counter slid open, and Bella's mouth went dry.

She saw her friend before her friend saw her. Sunglasses perched atop her head with her pink carry-on suitcase rolling behind her, Angela Weber stepped through the doors with a soothingly familiar excitement lighting her face. She looked just as Bella remembered her— tall and proud, with a hint of unfamiliar womanhood about the angles of her face. Bella had not seen her in so long— over three years in the flesh— and though the girl she knew had grown into a woman, Bella would know her anywhere. Angela was beautiful— she always had been— and even as she struggled to tuck an unruly curl into the bun atop her head, Bella found herself tearing up.

When she left Emmett's side, hardly realizing where she was headed, she saw Angela's eyes snap to hers, filling with sudden and ferocious joy. Had Bella been listening, she would have heard Emmett's indulgent laughter as both girls— crying and laughing all at once— stood staring at each other. Neither one moved until the suitcase fell over— a heap of pink canvas that forced the crowds to part around her— and, as if shocked into action, Bella took the first step forward.

Angela met her halfway there.

* * *

The sound of the shower running from the floor above was the only thing Bella heard as she stood, her arms wrapped so tightly around Emmett's waist that she thought she might squeeze him half to death. Her arms were shaking— _all_ of her had been shaking with tremulous shock and excitement— and she knew he could feel it when he patted her lightly on the head. He was still laughing at her— he had been ever since that first, fat tear had fallen at the airport, and it had continued even after he'd packed both girls into the back seat of his car, driving them away from the airport and into the belly of downtown Los Angeles. It had been a mark of their friendship that Angela had not torn her eyes away from Bella— the palm trees, Hollywood sign, and even Sunset Boulevard had not been enough to deter her, and the pair of them had made tearful, yet necessary conversation the whole way home.

Bella had not said a word to her brother until Angela, feeling grimy from the plane, had requested a shower.

"Thank you," she said again, swallowing hard against the choking emotion. "Thank you…"

"You're welcome," Emmett said again, and she could feel his rumbling laughter under her cheek. "Jeez, Bella…"

"Thank you."

"Come on," he chuckled, trying to pry her away. "If you sit down and get ahold of yourself, I'll tell you all about your weekend…"

"What weekend?"

"Come on," he said again, and Bella let him lead her to the kitchen. He sat her at the island, and before she could protest, he'd settled her on a tall barstool, with a full and heady glass of dark, red wine in her hand.

"Drink that," he said, taking a sip from his own. "Look at you, all worked up…"

"You have no idea…"

"I've got some idea," he countered, and Bella blew out a breath. Trixie bounced at her feet, and Bella scooped her up. The wine was strong, but not unpleasant, and she took a large swig.

"Now," Emmett said, "Better?"

Bella shrugged.

"Good," he smirked. "So."

"So?"

"So, Angela is here until Monday afternoon," said Emmett. "I know it's not long, but…"

"It's plenty," said Bella quickly. "Thank you."

"Stop thanking me," he said, finishing off his wine. "Just listen."

Bella obeyed.

"Tonight is your party— Rose, and Alice, and Jasper, and Leah…"

"Right…"

"But tomorrow, you and Angela have the day to yourselves. Rose helped me figure out where to send you…"

"Send us?"

"Well you guys can hardly just sit around here doing nothing," Emmett said, scandalized. "What kind of vacation would that be for your friend?"

"I…"

"No," said Emmett. "I've got no idea what girls are into nowadays, but Rose sure as hell does. Does a spa day sound nice?"

Bella, unable to help herself, cracked a grin.

"Thought so," he said, smug. "Spa day tomorrow, and then dinner reservations."

"Thank…"

"And _then,"_ he cut her off, "sightseeing on Sunday. I figured you and she could go exploring. I've got a driver all worked out, and he'll take you down to the beach, and down the Walk of Fame, and to a few galleries, if you feel up to it…"

Bella could barely contain her excitement.

"And Monday is yours," said Emmett. "I didn't want to monopolize all of your time, but you could hang out here, or take her out someplace else. Whatever you want to do."

"It's perfect," said Bella, and her brother beamed. "Absolutely perfect."

"I'm glad you like it."

"It's the best gift anyone's ever given me," she said. "I mean it."

"Well, that's just the preview," said Emmett, and Bella caught a hint of slyness in his voice. "Your real gift comes tonight, at the party."

"Real gift?"

He winked at her.

"What did you do?"

"Hush," said Emmett. "Don't worry about it. I've got it all sorted out."

"What more could you have possibly bought?" she asked, though as soon as she'd spoken, she knew how silly she sounded.

What _couldn't_ Emmett buy?

"You'll find out later. I promise."

"You promise?"

But it was then that the sound of the shower stopped, and Emmett remained silent.

* * *

"And then!" Alice gulped her wine, giggling, "And then, I have to practically _force_ her out behind the counter, and the poor boy…"

Angela cackled, and Bella, her cheeks red with mortification, pressed her face into her hands.

"The poor kid," Alice continued, "acted like he'd never seen a girl in all his life!"

"Alice, please…" Bella groaned, though behind the fierce and poignant embarrassment lay a reluctant amusement. She fought not to laugh. "I think that's enough…"

"Oh no," Alice set her empty glass down. Rose, ever the instigator, refilled it at once. "Oh no, it's definitely not."

"Oh, I think it _is…"_ Emmett's words were barely loud enough to hear. The scowl on his face redeemed Alice only slightly _,_ though when she began regaling Angela with the tale of their brief, yet pleasant coffee date, Bella gave up completely.

Emmett nursed his beer with a grimace as Alice, more than a little tipsy, chortled her way through the whole thing.

"Great," said Bella, cutting her off before she could begin another retelling. "Thanks Alice."

"Just doing my duty, birthday girl." Alice raised her glass. "What kind of friends don't share embarrassing stories to new friends?"

Angela stifled her smirk. She turned Rose away when she offered her a top-up, and instead turned to face the stack of gifts on the far table.

"So, uh, _coffee girl…"_ Bella scowled at her, but did not interrupt. "What say you to your gifts?"

"I thought I said _no_ gifts," said Bella lightly, and Alice chortled again. "But seeing as you all didn't listen…"

"Oh, Bella… it's bad manners to show up to a birthday party empty handed!" cried Alice. Jasper steadied her as she leapt up from her seat. "Come! I'll get you mine!"

And she stumbled, nearly tripping over the heel of her shoe, to the pile on the table. When she plunged her hand into the mix, she emerged victorious with two lurid pink parcels, wrapped up with shiny paper and impeccable bows.

"Here you go," she said, and Bella just barely caught it when she threw it over. "Just for you, my love…"

"Sit down before you fall," said Jasper. "And give me that."

He confiscated her wine.

"Party pooper…"

"It's not my fault you're a cheap drunk," he countered, downing the remnants of her glass for himself. Rose's fingers twitched for the nearly empty bottle, stopping only when her brother flashed her an admonishing frown.

"Oh come on," she said. "Look at her. She's having a _great_ time!"

"It's not even nine o'clock," said Jasper. "Keep plying her, and she'll end up face-first in the driveway when I try to take her home."

Rose cackled, but left the cup empty as Bella began to tug at the tape.

"Oh, just go for it," said Emmett impatiently. All thoughts of Edward seemed to have fled now that his favourite part had started. Bella never could figure out just why Emmett was so fond of giving her things. "Come on!"

Bella obliged, and ripped the paper off with only some difficulty.

"It's a _tea!"_ cried Alice. "Look at it, Bella! _Tea!"_

And indeed, she found a thermos travel mug, nestled in a bed of tissue paper with a generous package of her favourite tea bags from the cafe.

"Don't spoil the surprise," chuckled Jasper, but Alice barely heard him.

"Thanks, Alice…"

"The other one is fun too," she continued, and Bella tore the paper away. "Well, fun for _you_ , anyways…"

"Thank you," said Bella. A journal— thankfully blue, and not pink— with an assortment of colourful pens.

"It's _tea,_ Bella…" Her voice slurred. "Tea, just like you always drink."

"Yes, Alice," she laughed. "It's wonderful. I love it. Thank you."

"I _told_ you she'd like it," said Alice, rather loudly, to Jasper. "I _told_ you. Didn't I tell you?"

He didn't reply, but Rose, not even bothering to stifle her laughter, pulled her in to lean on her shoulder.

Emmett plopped another package in Bella's lap.

It was only after the parcels had been opened, the cake cut and served, and their guests— all but Rose and Angela— had departed, that Emmett's mysterious promise made sense.

"Hey Rose?" Emmett's voice was low, but even where Bella sat, listening to Angela's tales of school and her engagement, she heard his failed attempt at subtlety. Angela saw her sudden distraction and paused, but not soon enough for Bella to hear what Emmett whispered in Rose's ear.

"Sure," said Rose, and Bella saw the speculative look on her face. "Sure… Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to steal Angela and show her the pool house."

"The pool house?" asked Bella, glancing surreptitiously through the large kitchen window. The miniature version of the main house next to the clear and sparkling water was dark and quiet, and Angela frowned in confusion.

"Why?" asked Angela, and Rose bit her lip.

"Just… come with me," said Rose. "It's pretty in there. Tons of windows, and the sweetest little reading nook…"

"Why not wait for sun?" asked Bella, glancing suspiciously at her brother. "If you want to show her the windows…"

"No," said Rose. She wore a peculiar expression on her face— one that Bella did not particularly enjoy— that spoke of secrets. "No… we'll be quick, Bella. Just… come with me."

She held out a hand to Angela, who looked to Bella with a questioning gaze. Bella shrugged at her, giving grudging permission for her to leave, and although they moved slowly, Bella watched in bewildered silence as Rose led her through the sliding patio door. Rose took Angela's hand as if she were an old friend, and they disappeared across the lawn without so much as a farewell.

The silence in their wake was almost deafening.

"So…" She cleared her throat as Emmett's head snapped up. "What's all that about?"

"I, uh… I just wanted a minute alone," said Emmett gently. "To give you your present."

"My present?" deadpanned Bella. She watched as Rose unlocked the pool house, and the great, bay window lit up in when she flicked the switch. The pair stepped inside, and the door closed behind them. "I thought Angela was my present?"

"No," said Emmett. "No, not exactly…"

Trixie hopped into Bella's lap, and she stroked the little dog with careful fingers.

"You didn't have to get me anything," said Bella. "You've already given me a lot…"

He'd fixed her truck, bought her groceries, brought her into his home, and given her an excellent birthday party with her best and oldest friend…

"I didn't really _buy_ anything," began Emmett, opening a drawer next to the sofa. "Not really…"

Bella sat, still and quiet, as he rifled through, emerging with a plain, white envelope with its flap taped shut.

"Here," he said, holding out to her. She took it gingerly. "Just… open it. You'll get it once you do."

Curiosity won out over her nerves and Bella obeyed, reaching into the envelope to produce a bright yellow birthday card. It was decorated with a dog wearing a birthday hat, and Bella flipped it open with deft and nimble fingers, surprised by a slip of folded paper that fell into her lap.

She read the inscription first.

 _Bella,_

 _I know you asked me not to get you a gift, but if you know anything about me, you'll know that such a request is nearly impossible. I've got over ten years of birthdays to make up for, and I couldn't let you go empty-handed. I wanted to give you something meaningful— I could have went out and bought you something cool, but I figured you'd be happier with something from the heart._

 _Rose spoke to me about the conversation you had at the shelter a few weeks ago. She told me how you talked about Charlie taking away your chances for school, and how she saw something in you— something that I've always seen and known to be true. You're bright, Bella, and special, and I want to give you every opportunity to be the person you've always wanted to be._

 _So please, don't be upset. I know it's a lot of money, and I know you're going to feel guilty. But don't. What kind of brother would I be if I didn't do everything in my power to help you achieve your goals?_

 _I love you._

 _Emmett_

The paper that had fallen out, which now felt heavier than a brick, made her mouth go dry.

"Emmett…"

"No complaints," he said, and though he was teasing, there was a quiet vulnerability behind his ease. When she looked at him, she saw concern and a quiet, almost desperate worry that she might reject his gift.

She unfolded the paper with shaking fingers.

A cheque, folded crisply down the middle, bearing her name and more zeros than she cared to count. On the bottom, on the line that read _Notes_ , he'd written two words in big, block letters.

 _For Tuition_

Deep in her chest, she felt a strange, yet potent thrill.

"Thank you," she said, and he accepted her embrace with a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Emmett…"

And this time, he did not silence her.

 **A/N: My apologies. Writer's block is a bitch, and school is a time suck.**


	33. Great News!

Great news! Some kind readers have nominated me for the TwiFic Fandom Awards! _Eyes, Look Your Last_ is nominated in the "Favourite MY EMOTIONS" category, _Invictus_ is nominated in the "Favourite Drop Everything" category, and _The Island_ is nominated in the "Favourite Undiscovered Gem" category.

I'd like to say a huge thank you to whichever reader or readers nominated me. I'm so glad you think highly enough of my writing to think it might win any kind of award!

Voting opens tomorrow (February 11) and closes on February 17. If you're interested in voting, you can go to twificfandomawards. blogspot. ca/ (minus the spaces).

Thank you all for your support and dedication. You guys are wonderful! Keep an eye out for new chapters soon.

Much love,

Moonchild707


End file.
